“I never touch it,” shot back Phelan, “an’ that’s no answer to me question.”
Gladwin stared at Phelan steadily a moment, his smile vanishing. As he measured the officer’s height and build an idea came to him. His face lighted as he exclaimed:
“I’ve got a great idea! Officer, I want you to do me a little favor. How would you like to make five hundred dollars?”
If he had said four hundred dollars, or even four hundred and fifty, the effect would not have been half so great upon Michael Phelan. The mention of an even five hundred dollars, though, was the open sesame to the very depths of his emotions. Five hundred dollars represented the talisman that would lead him safe through Purgatory into the land of sweet enchantments. The fires of his wrath were instantly cooled and he said feebly:
“Are yez tryin’ to bribe me?”
“Not at all, sergeant,” said the young man gravely.
“I ain’t no sergeant,” Phelan retorted.
“All right, lieutenant,” laughed Gladwin, his good humor increasing as his sudden idea took shape in his mind.
“Don’t call me lieutenant,” said Phelan, with a return of temper.