“Believe it, my lad? Why, I couldn’t believe it if he swore it ’fore a hundred million magistrits.”
“No, that’s allus the way with higgerant chaps like you, Jem Wimble,” said Mike; “but it’s all true, genelmen, and I’m sorry I didn’t speak out afore like a man, for he don’t deserve what I did for him.”
“Hah!” ejaculated Uncle Josiah, and Don’s face was full of despair.
“You charge Mike Bannock, then, with stealing this money, sir,” said the constable.
“Yes, certainly.”
“What?” roared Mike, savagely, “charge me?”
“That will do,” said the constable, taking a little staff with a brass crown on the end from his pocket. “No nonsense, or I shall call in help. In the King’s name, my lad. Do you give in?”
“Give in? What for? I arn’t done nothing. Charge him; he’s the thief.”
Don started as if the word thief were a stinging lash.