“Not with me; but certainly I can furnish them. The name of McArthur is not unknown in Connecticut,” he answered with a tinge of pride.
“Where are your riding-breeches? Bear Chief says you were wearing them yesterday. Can you produce them now?”
McArthur, with hauteur, walked to the nails where his wardrobe hung and fumbled among the clothing.
They were gone!
His jaw dropped, and a slight pallor overspread his face.
Susie, who had been listening from the doorway, flung a flour-sack at his feet.
“Search my trunk, pardner,” she said with her old-time impish grin.
McArthur mechanically did as she bade him, and his riding-breeches dropped from the sack.
“I hope you’ll ’scuse me for makin’ so free with your clothes, like,” she said, “but I just naturally had to have them yesterday.”
A light broke in upon Ralston.