“What do you want of me?”

“I want you to hand over the money you stole awhile ago.”

“What are you talking about?  I never stole any money.”

“You did.  You broke into the Widow Canby’s house less than an hour ago.  Come, hand over that money.”

The fellow gave a coarse laugh.  “Ha! ha! do you think I’m to be bluffed by a boy?  Get home with you, before I hammer you for calling me a thief.”

“That’s just what you are, and I don’t intend to go until you hand over the money, John Stumpy,” I returned decidedly.

“Ha! you know my name?”

I bit my lip.  I was sorry for the slip I had made.  But I put on a bold front.  “I know what you are called,” I replied.

“What I am called?”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean?  Come, out with it.”

“I will when I please.  In the meantime hand over that money.”

“You talk like a fool!” he cried.

“Never mind.  You’ll find I won’t act like one.”

“What do you know about me?” he went on curiously, believing, no doubt, that he was perfectly safe from attack.

“I know more than you think.  I know you are a burglar, and may be worse.”

“I’ll kill you!” he cried, rushing forward.

“Stand where you are!” I returned, pulling out the pistol.  “Don’t stir a step.”

He did not see the weapon until he was fairly upon me.  The glint of the nickeled steel made him shiver.

“Don’t shoot!” he cried in sudden terror, that showed he was a coward at heart.  “Don’t—­ don’t shoot.”

“I won’t if you do as I tell you.”

“Do what?”

“Give up the widow’s money.”

“See here, young fellow, you’ve made a mistake.  I never was near the widow’s house, ’cepting this morning.”

“I know better.  You just broke open her desk and stole over two hundred dollars.”

“It’s a mistake.  Put down the pistol and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“I’m not such a fool, Mr. John Stumpy, or whatever your name is,” was my decided reply.

The tone of my voice disconcerted the man, for he paused as if not knowing what to say next.

“Say, young feller, do you want to make some money?” he asked suddenly, after a short pause.

The change in his manner surprised me.

“How?” I asked, although I knew about what was coming.

“I’ve got nearly three hundred dollars in cash with me.  I’ll give you fifty of it if you’ll go home and say you couldn’t find me.”

“Thank you; I’m not doing business that way,” I rejoined coldly.

“Fifty dollars ain’t to be sneezed at,” he went on insinuatingly.

“I wouldn’t care if you offered me fifty thousand,” I cried sharply.  “I’m no thief.”

“Humph; don’t you suppose I know who you are?” he went on.  “You’re the son of a thief.  Do you hear that?—­ the son of a thief!  What right have you got to set yourself up to be any better than your father was afore you?”