Allan looked down at his clothes. “I wonder what any one would think of this?”
McConnell laughed. “You’ll have to explain,” he said.
The boys turned up the dock, and they had scarcely done so when a man stepped from behind the boat-house and caught Allan by the shoulder.
“No, you don’t!” said the man, “no convicts here, please. If this don’t beat all! Mike!” And the man shouted again, until another man came strolling from beyond the boat-house. At the sight of Allan, Mike stopped, and his jaw dropped. “Holy saints!”
“I don’t mind yer gettin’ away,” said the first man; “but makin’ use of us is too much—too much, I say.”
“I’m not a convict,” said Allan, “I—”
“Of course not,” said Allan’s custodian, “of course yer innocent. You all are.”
“You don’t understand,” said Allan; “a man escaped and I—”
“Yes, and you couldn’t resist keeping him company. Right you are, my boy, and I suppose I’d do it myself if I was in your shoes; but I’m not, and I’m goin’ to keep my conscience clear. I’ll hand you over and save all trouble. And yer only a kind of kid, after all.”
“You’re making a break,” spoke up McConnell; “he’s no convict. He had a fight with one, and he—”