"Can you prove it?"
Mr. Woodward asked the question sneeringly, but there was much of curiosity in his tones.
"Perhaps I can."
The merchant pulled his mustache nervously.
"Strong, you are greatly mistaken. But don't let us quarrel any more."
"I don't want to quarrel."
"I feel badly over the whole affair, and Mr. Stumpy is fairly sick. I suppose you think you are right, but you are mistaken. Now I have a proposition to make to you." Mr. Woodward leaned forward in his chair. "Suppose you admit that you are mistaken—that Mr. Stumpy is not the man? Do this, and I will not prosecute you for having taken my papers."
I was surprised and indignant; surprised that Mr. Woodward should still insist upon my having taken his papers, and indignant because of his outrageous offer.
"Mr. Woodward," I began firmly, "you can prosecute me or not; Stumpy is the guilty man, and I shall always stick to it."
"Then you will go to jail, too."