"He said so; ain't that enough?" he managed to bluster.
"It seems to have been," replied Harry, who had gone to night school in Albany for two years.
"Well, what in thunder are you talking about then?" exclaimed Anderson Crow, whipping up.
"I'll bet three dollars it's a stolen outfit!"
"You go to Halifax!" shouted Anderson, but his heart was cold. Something told him that Harry Squires was right. He drove home in a state of dire uncertainty and distress. Somehow, his enthusiasm was gone.
"Dang it!" he said, without reason, as he was unhitching the horse in the barn lot.
"Hey, Mr. Crow!" cried a shrill voice from the street. He looked up and saw a small boy coming on the run.
"What's up, Toby?" asked Mr. Crow, all a-tremble. He knew!
"They just got a telephone from Boggs City," panted the boy, "down to the Banner office. Harry Squires says for you to hurry down—buggy and all. It's been stole."
"Good Lord!" gasped Anderson. His badge danced before his eyes and then seemed to shrivel.