"Ye hired me to get hold of keys that could be used on one o' the High School locker rooms," Tip went on, cunningly. "Ye hired me to steal some stuff from the coats o' the young gents that study there. Then ye hired me to break inter Dick Prescott's room and get the loot inter his trunk. Right, ain't I?"
Tip spoke assertively, making no effort to keep his voice low.
"For goodness' sake don't shout it all over four counties," protested Fred Ripley, glancing apprehensively about him. His face was paler, now, from uneasiness.
"Oh, I ain't afraid about anyone hearing me," Tip went on, unconcernedly. "D'ye know why, Fred, my boy? Because I done my stretch for the trick, and there ain't nuthin' more comin' to me on that score. If you're 'fraid, jest go an' do yer stretch, like I did, an' then ye won't care who hears or knows!"
Tip laughed cunningly. Fred's face darkened. He squirmed, yet found himself afraid to show anger.
"So I dropped ye that note, tellin' ye to come here at three this aft'noon," Scammon continued. "I told ye I hoped ye'd find it convenient to come, an' hinted that if ye didn't, ye might wish later, that ye had."
"I'm here," retorted the Ripley heir. "Now, what do you want to say to me?"
"I'm broke," Tip informed Ripley, plaintively. "Stony! Understand?
I hain't got no money."
"You don't expect me to furnish you with any?" demanded Fred, his eyes opening wide in astonishment. "I paid you, in full, last year."
"Ye didn't pay me fer the stretch I done, did ye?" demanded Tip, insolently. "How much did ye pay me for keeping my mouth closed, so you wouldn't have to do your stretch?"