“Sure; search you; go through your clothes. And your bag.”
Young shot a troubled look at the suit-case beside him. “No one’s got any right to search me,” he muttered. “And—and you can’t arrest me, either, without a warrant!”
“Bless your heart, friend, if we waited for warrants we’d miss half the fun! Here comes the conductor. Better not buy beyond Monroe. We’ll get off there and beat it back.”
“Why don’t you believe what I’m telling you?” demanded Young anxiously. “I never saw this fellow or his money. Say, you aren’t really going to take me just on what he says, are you?”
“Orders are orders, friend, and I got mine,” was the reply. “But don’t you bother. If you didn’t get his money you’ll get off all right tomorrow morning. And we’ve got a good, comfortable jail in Toledo, too.”
“That’s all right,” faltered Young, his gaze on the approaching conductor, “but—but if he tells them a pack of lies, how do I know they won’t believe him instead of me? You do yourself!”
“Me? Pshaw, now, I don’t believe anyone. This fellow says you did and you say you didn’t. It doesn’t make a scrap of difference to me, anyway. It’s up to the judge in the morning.”
“Well, but—say——” Young leaned across confidentially, lowering his voice. “Now, look here, sir. I don’t want to have to go back to Toledo. I’m in a hurry. I’ve got a sick father in Detroit, I have. Now, say I give this fellow what I’ve got with me? Eh? I’d pay that not to have to go back. What do you say?”
“Well, that’s up to him,” was the reply, “What do you say?” The man turned inquiringly to Joe.