“It’s a lie!” roared Mr. Norton. “I am a jeweler from Newark.”
“What are you wearing a false beard for?” asked the conductor.
“I—I suffer from face-ache, and use it to prevent catching cold,” was the lame excuse, which brought forth a laugh.
“I take it the boy is right,” said the conductor. “We will hand you over to the police at Landown,” and he pulled the cord to stop at the station which we were just approaching.
“This is an outrage!”
“I’ll run the risk. It’s against the law to be disguised.”
Mr. Norton continued to bluster, but no one paid any attention to him.
As soon as we had stopped at the railroad station the station-master was informed of what had happened. He brought forth a stout rope, and with this my guardian’s wrists were bound, despite his many protestations.
Then the train rolled on, leaving me on the platform. Mr. Norton shook his fist in my face.
“You shall suffer for this, Reuben!” he cried. “You will find it would have been better to have allowed me to escape.”