"Say," he whispered to Dick, grabbing his arm, "is dat guy in your governor's bank?"
"Which man? What do you mean?"
"I mean dat one wid de black moustache, jest comin' down de steps. Is he in de bank?"
"Oh, that's Mr. Vanderhoof," replied Dick, recognizing the mining promoter.
"Mr. who?" asked Tim.
"Vanderhoof. Why, do you know him?"
"Not by dat name. But say, if he's got anyt'ing to do wit de bank it'll soon be on de blink."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean put out of business. On de blink, excuse my slang. But youse had better tell your governor to keep his peepers open."
"Why?" inquired Dick, a vague suspicion coming into his mind.
"Because," replied Tim, earnestly. "Dat man's name ain't Vanderhoof any more dan mine is."
"Who is he?"
"Why, he's William Jackson, or Bond Broker Bill. I seen him in de police court in N' York. I sells papers, an' I knows lots of de cops an' detectives. I saw 'em arrest dat man once, only he had a white beard an' moustache den. Now he's shaved off de whiskers an' colored his moustache, but I knowed him de minute I set me peepers on him. I seen his mug in de papers lots of times. Youse wants to be on lookout fer him or he'll put de bank on de blink. He's a gold-brick
