“Nevins!” echoed Mr. Schofield, coming a step nearer. “Why, no—yes it is, too!”
“And who may Nevins be?” demanded Jack.
“Nevins is the day operator here,” said Mr. Schofield. “Let him go, Jack; he can’t escape.”
Jack reluctantly released his grip of the unlucky operator’s neck.
“I don’t know,” he said, dubiously. “If you’d chased him five mile, an’ fought him at th’ bottom of a ditch, an’ had him hit you in th’ head with a rock, mebbe you wouldn’t be so sure o’ that!”
“But what has he done?” demanded Mr. Schofield.
“Well, I don’t exactly know,” answered Jack, deliberately, moving again between the prisoner and the door, and sitting down there. “But it was some deviltry.”
Mr. Schofield also sat down, more astonished than ever.
“See here, Welsh,” he said, “you’re not drunk?”
“Hain’t drunk a drop fer a matter o’ tin year, Mr. Schofield. Th’ effects wore off long ago.”