"I haven't it, upon my honor."
"Your honor? Bah! What does that amount to?"
John Stumpy suddenly shifted his hand from its grasp on the collar to the merchant's throat. For a moment I thought Mr. Woodward was in danger of being choked to death.
"Stop! Stop! Se—search me if you—you want to," he gasped.
But John Stumpy's passion seemed to have got the better of his reason. He did not relax his hold in the least.
A short struggle ensued. The two backed up against the table, and presently a chair was upset. Of course all this made considerable noise. Yet neither of the men heeded it.
Presently the door from the other room swung open, and the two had hardly time to separate before a tall, lank farmer entered.
"Hello, what's up?" he asked in a loud, drawling tone.
For an instant neither spoke, evidently not knowing what to say.
"We were—were—ahem—trying to—to catch a rat," replied Mr. Woodward, with an effort.