“I dunno what you’re drivin’ at,” admitted the puzzled deputy; “but I do know that Bentley wants to see ye an’ hev a talk with ye. He begged me to hunt ye up. I’ll take ye in to see him.”
The boy’s head cleared a bit, but he accompanied Drew without further words, and soon he was standing before Leon Bentley, who, wild-eyed and fear-shaken, paced the narrow confines of his prison, smoking a cigarette.
“I’m glad you came, Don!” cried Leon, trying to catch his hand. “I was afraid you wouldn’t!”
The doctor’s son refused to permit his hand to be taken.
“What do you want?” he coldly asked.
“Don’t look like that!” Leon whimpered. “We’ve been friends, and I’ve tried to do you some good turns.”
“You have done me the greatest possible harm, but I am willing to forget and try to forgive if you tell nothing but the truth now.”
“Oh, I’ll tell the truth!” cried the nerveless prisoner; “but you must help me. Promise that you will help me!”
“How?”
“With your father. I think I can fix it about the bicycle, if I can get your father to go easy with me. I’m sorry, and I’ll try to do better. Please help me with your old man, Don!”