In doing this the merchant’s back was turned upon his companion, and for an instant Stumpy had been unable to see what the other was doing.

When therefore Mr. Woodward declared the envelope to be empty every action of the tramp indicated that he did not believe the statement.

“Empty?” he cried hoarsely.

“Yes, empty,” replied the merchant; “and you knew it,” he added.

“No such thing.  The statement was inside.  Woody, you’re trying to play a sharp game, but it won’t work.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“You’re trying to rob me.”

“Nonsense.  I say the envelope was empty.”

“And I say it wasn’t.  Come, hand over my property.”

“I tell you, Fer—­ Stumpy, I haven’t it.”

“I don’t care what you say.  You can’t play any such game off on me,” rejoined John Stumpy, with increasing anger.

“I’m only speaking the truth.”

“You ain’t.  Hand it over, or I’ll—­”

John Stumpy caught the merchant by the coat collar.

“What would you do?” cried Mr. Woodward in alarm, and it was plain to see he was a coward at heart.

“I’ll choke the life out of you; that’s what I’ll do.  Hand over the statement.”

“I haven’t it, upon my honor.”

“Your honor?  Bah!  What does that amount to?”

John Stumpy suddenly shifted his hand from its grasp on the collar to the merchant’s throat.  For a moment I thought Mr. Woodward was in danger of being choked to death.

“Stop!  Stop!  Se—­ search me if you—­ you want to,” he gasped.

But John Stumpy’s passion seemed to have got the better of his reason.  He did not relax his hold in the least.

A short struggle ensued.  The two backed up against the table, and presently a chair was upset.  Of course all this made considerable noise.  Yet neither of the men heeded it.

Presently the door from the other room swung open, and the two had hardly time to separate before a tall, lank farmer entered.

“Hello, what’s up?” he asked in a loud, drawling tone.

For an instant neither spoke, evidently not knowing what to say.

“We were—­ were—­ ahem—­ trying to—­ to catch a rat,” replied Mr. Woodward, with an effort.

“A rat?”

“Exactly, sir.  Had a terrible time with him, Mr. Decker.”

The farmer looked surprised.  “So I supposed by the row that was going on,” he said.  “Curious.  I knew there were rats down to the barn, but I didn’t suppose they came up to the house.  What became of him?”

“Slipped out of the door just now,” put in John Stumpy.  “There he goes!” he added, pointing out into the hall.

Mr. Decker made a spring out of the room.

“I must ketch him, by gopher!” he cried.  “There’s enough eat up here now without having the vermin taking a hand in.”

Mr. Woodward closed the door after the man.