Ragged Dick Chapter 23: TRAVIS IS ARRESTED
Jim Travis advanced into the bank with a doubtful step, knowing well
that he was on a dishonest errand, and heartily wishing that he
were well out of it. After a little hesitation, he approached the
paying-teller, and, exhibiting the bank-book, said, "I want to get
my money out."

The bank-officer took the book, and, after looking at it a moment,
said, "How much do you want?"

"The whole of it," said Travis.

"You can draw out any part of it, but to draw out the whole requires
a week's notice."

"Then I'll take a hundred dollars."

"Are you the person to whom the book belongs?"

"Yes, sir," said Travis, without hesitation.

"Your name is--"
"Hunter."

The bank-clerk went to a large folio volume, containing the names of
depositors, and began to turn over the leaves. While he was doing
this, he managed to send out a young man connected with the bank for
a policeman. Travis did not perceive this, or did not suspect that
it had anything to do with himself. Not being used to savings banks,
he supposed the delay only what was usual. After a search, which was
only intended to gain time that a policeman might be summoned, the
cashier came back, and, sliding out a piece of paper to Travis,
said, "It will be necessary for you to write an order for the money."

Travis took a pen, which he found on the ledge outside, and wrote
the order, signing his name "Dick Hunter," having observed that name
on the outside of the book.

"Your name is Dick Hunter, then?" said the cashier, taking the
paper, and looking at the thief over his spectacles.

"Yes," said Travis, promptly.

"But," continued the cashier, "I find Hunter's age is put down on
the bank-book as fourteen. Surely you must be more than that."

Travis would gladly have declared that he was only fourteen; but,
being in reality twenty-three, and possessing a luxuriant pair of
whiskers, this was not to be thought of. He began to feel uneasy.
"Dick Hunter's my younger brother," he said. "I'm getting out the
money for him."

"I thought you said your own name was Dick Hunter," said the cashier.

"I said my name was Hunter," said Travis, ingeniously. "I didn't
understand you."

"But you've signed the name of Dick Hunter to this order. How is
that?" questioned the troublesome cashier.

Travis saw that he was getting himself into a tight place; but his
self-possession did not desert him.

"I thought I must give my brother's name," he answered.

"What is your own name?"

"Henry Hunter."

"Can you bring any one to testify that the statement you are
making is correct?"

"Yes, a dozen if you like," said Travis, boldly. "Give me the book,
and I'll come back this afternoon. I didn't think there'd be such a
fuss about getting out a little money."
"Wait a moment. Why don't your brother come himself?"

"Because he's sick. He's down with the measles," said Travis.

Here the cashier signed to Dick to rise and show himself. Our hero
accordingly did so.

"You will be glad to find that he has recovered," said the cashier,
pointing to Dick.

With an exclamation of anger and dismay, Travis, who saw the game
was up, started for the door, feeling that safety made such a course
prudent. But he was too late. He found himself confronted by a burly
policeman, who seized him by the arm, saying, "Not so fast, my man.
I want you."

"Let me go," exclaimed Travis, struggling to free himself.

"I'm sorry I can't oblige you," said the officer. "You'd better not
make a fuss, or I may have to hurt you a little."

Travis sullenly resigned himself to his fate, darting a look of rage
at Dick, whom he considered the author of his present misfortune.

"This is your book," said the cashier, handing back his rightful
property to our hero. "Do you wish to draw out any money?"

"Two dollars," said Dick.

"Very well. Write an order for the amount."

Before doing so, Dick, who now that he saw Travis in the power of
the law began to pity him, went up to the officer, and said,--

"Won't you let him go? I've got my bank-book back, and I don't want
anything done to him."

"Sorry I can't oblige you," said the officer; "but I'm not allowed
to do it. He'll have to stand his trial."

"I'm sorry for you, Travis," said Dick. "I didn't want you arrested.
I only wanted my bank-book back."

"Curse you!" said Travis, scowling vindictively. "Wait till I get
free. See if I don't fix you."

"You needn't pity him too much," said the officer. "I know him now.
He's been to the Island before."

"It's a lie," said Travis, violently.

"Don't be too noisy, my friend," said the officer. "If you've got no
more business here, we'll be going."

He withdrew with the prisoner in charge, and Dick, having drawn his
two dollars, left the bank. Notwithstanding the violent words the
prisoner had used towards himself, and his attempted robbery, he
could not help feeling sorry that he had been instrumental in
causing his arrest.

"I'll keep my book a little safer hereafter," thought Dick. "Now I
must go and see Tom Wilkins."

Before dismissing the subject of Travis and his theft, it may be
remarked that he was duly tried, and, his guilt being clear, was
sent to Blackwell's Island for nine months. At the end of that time,
on his release, he got a chance to work his passage on a ship to
San Francisco, where he probably arrived in due time. At any rate,
nothing more has been heard of him, and probably his threat of
vengence against Dick will never be carried into effect.

Returning to the City Hall Park, Dick soon fell in with Tom Wilkins.

"How are you, Tom?" he said. "How's your mother?"

"She's better, Dick, thank you. She felt worried about bein' turned
out into the street; but I gave her that money from you, and now she
feels a good deal easier."

"I've got some more for you, Tom," said Dick, producing a two-dollar
bill from his pocket.

"I ought not to take it from you, Dick."

"Oh, it's all right, Tom. Don't be afraid."

"But you may need it yourself."

"There's plenty more where that came from."

"Any way, one dollar will be enough. With that we can pay the rent."

"You'll want the other to buy something to eat."

"You're very kind, Dick."

"I'd ought to be. I've only got myself to take care of."

"Well, I'll take it for my mother's sake. When you want anything
done just call on Tom Wilkins."

"All right. Next week, if your mother doesn't get better, I'll give
you some more."

Tom thanked our hero very gratefully, and Dick walked away,
feeling the self-approval which always accompanies a generous and
disinterested action. He was generous by nature, and, before
the period at which he is introduced to the reader's notice, he
frequently treated his friends to cigars and oyster-stews. Sometimes
he invited them to accompany him to the theatre at his expense. But
he never derived from these acts of liberality the same degree of
satisfaction as from this timely gift to Tom Wilkins. He felt that
his money was well bestowed, and would save an entire family from
privation and discomfort. Five dollars would, to be sure, make
something of a difference in the mount of his savings. It was more
than he was able to save up in a week. But Dick felt fully repaid
for what he had done, and he felt prepared to give as much more,
if Tom's mother should continue to be sick, and should appear to
him to need it.

Besides all this, Dick felt a justifiable pride in his financial
ability to afford so handsome a gift. A year before, however much
he might have desired to give, it would have been quite out of his
power to give five dollars. His cash balance never reached that
amount. It was seldom, indeed, that it equalled one dollar. In
more ways than one Dick was beginning to reap the advantage of his
self-denial and judicious economy.

It will be remembered that when Mr. Whitney at parting with Dick
presented him with five dollars, he told him that he might repay it
to some other boy who was struggling upward. Dick thought of this,
and it occurred to him that after all he was only paying up an old
debt.

When Fosdick came home in the evening, Dick announced his success
in recovering his lost money, and described the manner it had been
brought about.

"You're in luck," said Fosdick. "I guess we'd better not trust the
bureau-drawer again."

"I mean to carry my book round with me," said Dick.

"So shall I, as long as we stay at Mrs. Mooney's. I wish we were in
a better place."

"I must go down and tell her she needn't expect Travis back. Poor
chap, I pity him!"

Travis was never more seen in Mrs. Mooney's establishment. He was
owing that lady for a fortnight's rent of his room, which prevented
her feeling much compassion for him. The room was soon after let to
a more creditable tenant who proved a less troublesome neighbor than
his predecessor.