“What kind of a dream is this?” asked Alex, whimsically.
“A dream of a thief!” responded Case.
“Oh, quit it!” interposed Alex. “I think sometimes you haven’t got common sense. I don’t believe that boy ever stole our money.”
“What was he hanging about for, then? I shouldn’t wonder if he did worse—if he attacked Jule and left him lying dead somewhere.”
“You always go to extreme, Case,” smiled Clay. “What I’m thinking about now is that the policeman went away without searching the cabin and finding the diamonds! He says they were stolen to-day. Well, if he had found them here what would he have done?”
“Pinched us!” exclaimed Alex.
“You’ll wash the dishes in the morning for that, Alex,” grinned Case. “That’s slang.”
“Not!” retorted the other. “That is what the policemen call it themselves. They say ‘pinched,’ and that brings the word into legitimate use. Guess I know slang when I hear it.”
“Is that the boy you saw fighting at the head of the pier?” asked Case, in a moment, of Clay.
“Not a bit like him,” was the reply.