Short grinned. “Perhaps,” he said. “But I hate to be hard on a chum. There’s a way out of it for you, though, if you will do exactly what I say.”
“I didn’t do it; you can’t prove I did,” exclaimed the young man.
“I’m not going to try to prove it,” smiled Short, in reply. “I’m just going to have you locked up in jail; the prosecuting attorney of Annapolis and a jury will take charge of you; but I guess you’ll live at public expense for a few years. It’s a clear case, my boy, but I bear you no ill will; two hundred dollars or so isn’t much to me. But I told you there was a way out of it for you, and an easy way out of it, too.”
“What do you mean? Oh, Short, you wouldn’t disgrace me, you wouldn’t ruin me?” implored the young man in trembling tones.
“Stop your sniveling,” commanded Short. “Now do you want to get out of this and have no one know anything about it or do you want to go to jail? Take your choice, and be quick about it.”
“I’ll do anything. What do you want me to do?”
“First, I want you to write a confession stating you stole the two hundred dollars and other amounts from Thomas G. Short.”
“I’ll not do it.”
“Oh, well, then, go to jail; I’m tired of bothering with you.”
“Oh, Short, don’t. What would you do with that confession?”