“And if I do?” insinuated Andy.
“You won’t be prosecuted on this firebug charge. I’ll take you back at the garage and raise your salary.”
“How much?” inquired Andy.
“Well—I’ll be liberal. I’ll raise your wages twenty-five cents a week.”
“Mr. Talbot, if you made it twenty-five dollars I wouldn’t touch it, no, nor twenty-five hundred dollars. You talk about your goodness to me. Why, you treated me like a slave. As to the two hundred dollars, it stays right where it is until its rightful owner claims it. If he then wants to give it to me as a reward, you can make up your mind you won’t get a cent of it.”
“You young reprobate!” shouted Talbot, jumping to his feet, aflame with rage. “I’ll make you sing another tune soon. It rests with me as to your staying in jail. I’ll just go and see those lawyers myself.”
“You will waste your time,” declared Andy. “I have told them all about you from beginning to end, and they’re too smart to play into any of your dodges.”
“We’ll see! We’ll see!” fumed the garage owner, as he went to the cell-room door and shook it to attract the attention of the turnkey. “I’ll see you once more—just once more, mind you, and that’s to-morrow morning. You’ll decide then, or you’ll have a hard run of it.”
Andy was left to himself. He walked around the stout cell room with some curiosity. There were two other prisoners in jail. Both were locked up in cells. One of them asked Andy for a drink of water. The other was asleep on his cot.
A clang at the barred door attracted Andy’s attention again, and he reached it as the turnkey shouted out in a tone that sounded very official: