“You lie!”
The voice that rang out was that of Fibsy, the irrepressible.
And before the coroner could remonstrate, the boy was up beside the Swede, talking to him in an earnest tone. “Clem Sandstrom,” he said, “you are saying what you have been told to say! Ain’t you?”
“Ay tank so,” returned the imperturbable Swede.
“There!” shouted Fibsy, triumphantly; “now, wait a minute, Mr. Berg,” and by the force of his own insistence Fibsy held the audience, while he pursued his own course. He drew a silver quarter from his pocket and handed it to Sandstrom. “Look at that,” he cried, “look at it good!” He snatched it back. “Did you look at it good?” and he shook his fist in the other’s face.
“Yes, Ay look at it good.”
“All right; now tell me where the plugged hole in it was? Was it under the date, or was it over the eagle?”
The Swede thought deeply.
“Be careful, now! Where was it, old top? Over the eagle?”
“Yes. Ay tank it been over the eagle.”