“I don’t fear you.  You can do nothing to me.”

“Oh, yes, I can.  I can tell ugly stories about Mr. Aaron Woodward; stories concerning his doings when he was collector for Holland & Mack.”

“And who would believe you?” sneered the merchant.  “You, a common tramp—­”

“Tramp, am I—­” interrupted John Stumpy, with a scowl.  “If I am, who made me so?”

“Your own self and the bottle.  Do you think you can hurt me?  Nonsense!”

“I can try.”

“And who will believe you, I repeat?  A common tramp—­ whom the police are now hunting for, because of a robbery that occurred only last night.”

" ’Tain’t so!”

“It is.  You broke into the Widow Canby’s house and stole over two hundred dollars.”

In spite of the dirt on his face, John Stumpy grew pale.

“Who can prove it?”

“Several people.  Carson Strong’s son, for one.”

Stumpy sprang to his feet.  Then almost as suddenly sat down.

“Didn’t know he had a son,” he said, as carelessly as he could.

“Yes, you did,” returned the merchant, flatly.  “I think, Fer—­ Stumpy, I know a little more about you than you do about me.”

Bitter hatred spread itself over the tramp’s face.

“Oh, ho, you do, do you?  Well, we’ll see.  ’Them laughs best as laughs last.’  If you won’t pay, I’m off.”

He rose to his feet and reached for his hat, Mr. Woodward intercepted him.

“Where are you going?”

“That’s my business.  I want you to know I didn’t come on all the way from Chicago for nothing.”

“Are you hard up?”

“Yes, I am.  I want money, and I’m going to have it.”

“How about the two hundred dollars you stole last night?”

Stumpy hesitated.

“Well, if you want to know the truth, I lost the money,” he said.

CHAPTER XIV

 The price of silence

For a moment I was staggered by John Stumpy’s announcement.  Was it possible he was telling the truth?  If so, the chances of recovering the Widow Canby’s money would assume a different shape.  To arrest him would prove a moral satisfaction, but it would not restore the stolen dollars.

Occupying the position I did, I was more interested in restoring the stolen money than I was in having the tramp incarcerated.

Nothing would have given me greater satisfaction than to have met the Widow Canby at the depot with the two hundred odd dollars in my pocket.  It would have silenced the public tongue and made my breaking jail of no consequence.

But perhaps John Stumpy was telling a falsehood.  He was not above such a thing, and would not hesitate if he thought anything could be gained thereby.  That Mr. Aaron Woodward also guessed such to be a fact was proven by the words that followed Stumpy’s statement.