The clerk rapidly turns over the leaves in a large book. Evidently he finds what he is looking for and, nodding, answers: "Well, here's the record of the case. One silver teapot, value fifty. Officer making arrest, Patrick McGinnis. Prisoner's name, Maria Holohan. Claimant's name, Silas Appleboy. That's you, is it? Stolen property, teapot. Held for evidence, yes. There you are, and you say now she skipped her bail?"
"Certainly," answers Appleboy.
"And you want the teapot?"
"Of course I do," answers Appleboy.
"Well, first you have to get an order from the court to that effect," says the clerk.
Appleboy almost loses his temper. Has he got to make another trip down to that miserable Criminal Courts building?
"Look here," he exclaims rather angrily, "what is the sense of all this red tape? The case is over, I own the teapot,—why don't you give it to me and be done with it?"
The clerk smiles,—a trifle condescendingly, thinks Appleboy.
"My dear sir," he says, "are you aware that I have no means of knowing that you are the Silas Appleboy who owns this teapot, except your own say so?"
"Isn't that enough?" shouts Appleboy.