“Huh!” grunted Riley, without regard for the regular order of procedure. “’Twon’t do ye no good to deny it. We’ve got the proof.”
“Pardon me, Riley,” said Graham reprovingly; “I am questioning the young man. Do you deny, sir, that you are Paul Hazelton, of Princeton?”
“Yes, sir,” was the prompt, clear answer, “I deny it.”
Henry Cope nearly fell off his chair. In great agitation, he reached out, grasped the speaker’s coat, tugged at it, and whispered:
“Boy, boy, be keerful! It’s too late for that to do any good.”
The dismay of the grocer was apparent to all, and provoked some smiles; but the unruffled young man simply turned and spoke to him in a low, calm tone:
“Leave this to me, Mr. Cope, please.”
“In that case,” said the president, maintaining an impartial manner, “it will be necessary for Manager Riley to produce satisfactory evidence that you are Paul Hazelton. Mr. Riley, your evidence.”
“I’ve got it,” asserted Mike positively. “Mr. King can show somethin’ that’ll settle the matter in short order.”