"Lending nothing," interrupted the cabman, who had been a silent listener to the conversation. "Why, the young villain has just been telling me how he euchered a brakeman up at the Grand Central out of a wad."
"It is a lie!" burst from the lips of the indignant boy, and he advanced toward the treacherous fellow with clinched fists.
But the cabman retreated and leaped upon his box.
"If I didn't have my cab here," he said, as he gathered up the reins, "I'd teach you to call me a liar. Boss"—to the brakeman—"you're in luck to find the young rascal so easy. Don't let him off; I know him well, and, in spite of his innocent looks, he is one of the toughest youngsters in the city."
With these words the rascal whipped up his horses and started up the avenue at as rapid a pace as his steeds were capable of.
"Do you believe that fellow's story?" demanded Al, looking his companion squarely in the eyes.
"You can bet I do," was the prompt reply.
"You think I am a thief?"
"Haven't I pretty good proof of it?"
"I——"