“You’ve only got his say-so for it,” exclaimed Young desperately. “Why, I never saw him until he came up to me in the station at Fremont! I don’t know anything about him. It—it’s a frame-up, that’s what it is! If you arrest me you’ll get into trouble. I—I’ve got friends in Toledo, and they’ll make it hot for you, all right!”
“Sure, I know. We get that line of talk all the time,” was the untroubled response. “You know your own business better than I do. If you didn’t take this fellow’s money, why, all right.”
“Of course I didn’t! Why, look here, I’ll show you!” Young pulled a purse from his pocket and eagerly spread its contents out. “That’s every cent I’ve got to my name! Seventy-five dollars! Gee, if I had seventy-five dollars I’d be back there in a Pullman, believe me!”
“That’s so. Still, you might have spent the difference. How much you got there?”
“Nineteen, about! I had twenty-five when I—when I was in Fremont, and this fellow”—he darted a triumphant look at Joe—“braced me for a dollar to get something to eat. Then, when he saw I had more, he began some wild yarn about my stealing money from him. Why, I guess he’s crazy!”
The tall man turned and looked attentively at Joe. “Is that right?” he asked. “Did you get a dollar from him at Fremont?”
Joe shook his head, not trusting himself to speak for fear he would laugh. The supposed detective sighed.
“Well, I don’t know! Of course, if they find only nineteen dollars on you when they frisk you at the station——”
“Frisk me?” faltered Young.