“Oh, no,” assented Slump, “I simply want to sell this photograph,” and he drew a card from his pocket. “I went to heaps of trouble to get it. It shows that I did see Glen Palmer before. It was where we were both locked up in jail,” shamelessly confessed Slump.
Ralph was a good deal taken aback. The words of Slump and the photograph he extended rather took the young railroader’s breath away. The portrait was that of a boy dressed in a convict suit, a number on his cap, and the background showed the surroundings of a prison room.
“It’s too bad,” spoke Ralph involuntarily. He was thinking of his misplaced trust in the Palmer boy. All his dark suspicions concerning the old grandfather and the conspirators were instantly revived in the mind of Ralph.
“Ain’t it, though?” smirked Slump. “Is it worth the price?”
“No!” suddenly shouted Ralph, in a tone so stern and ringing that the discomfited Slump fell back several feet. “You miserable jail bird and swindler, I wouldn’t help you on your wretched career of crime for five cents let alone five dollars. Furthermore, Glen Palmer may have been in jail, but I won’t believe he belonged there till I have the proofs.”
“Oh, won’t you?” sneered Ike. “All right. Don’t want to reform him, eh? Won’t give the downtrodden and oppressed a chance. You’re a heavy philanthropist, you are, Mr. Ralph--let go!”
Slump took a sudden whirl. From behind a fence there suddenly pounced down upon him a towering form. Ralph was as much surprised as Slump to recognize Bob Adair, the road detective.
The diligent officer gave Slump one or two more whirls, holding on to his coat collar, that made him shriek with affright. Then he threw him reeling ten feet away.
“I gave you two hours to get out of town this morning,” he observed. “Now then it’s two minutes to head straight for the limits, or I’ll lock you up as a vagrant.”
Ike picked up his fallen cap on the run. He darted down the alley in a flash.