"You're a nice boy, aint you?"
"Now, why don't you tell me what I've been a doin'?" asked Sam, never once flinching before the officer's steady gaze. "I haint been a doin' nothin'!"
"You know better," said the constable, savagely. "Where's that boat you stole from Bob Jennings last night? What have you done with it?"
Upon hearing this question, Sam stepped back as suddenly as if the constable had aimed a blow at him, and, opening his eyes and puffing out his cheeks, he stood looking at the officer as if he could scarcely believe that he had heard aright. Then he turned and looked at Bob; and one short glance was sufficient to convince him that his last night's work had ruined the fisher-boy as completely as he could have desired. Bob's face was very pale, and wore such a hopeless, despairing expression, that Sam could scarcely refrain from manifesting his exultation.
"O, now, you needn't look so mightily astonished," said Mr. Grimes. "I know all about it."
"What have I done with it?" repeated Sam, as if he just began to comprehend the officer's previous question. "Why, Bobby, has somebody stole your skiff—that nice little craft of your'n, that new one?"
"That's played out!" said the constable. "You're acting pretty well, Sam, but you can't pull the wool over my eyes. I'm too old a hand at this business, you know. If you won't tell me what you have done with that boat, I'll take you before the 'squire, and have you put in jail."
"In jail!" echoed Sam, now beginning to be really alarmed.
"Yes, sir, in jail, in the lock-up, and from there to State's prison."
"Well, I can't help it," whined Sam, drawing down the corners of his mouth, and rubbing his knuckles in his eyes. "I don't know nothing about that ar boat! You don't 'spose I'd be mean enough to steal that nice little craft of your'n, do you, Bobby?"