«Sure,» said Kohen. «I hear about those saples dat vas stole. You say you have dem here?»
Policeman Kohen took the end of Molly's late scarf in his hands and looked at it closely.
«Once,» he said, «I sold furs in Sixth avenue. Yes, dese are saples. Dey come from Alaska. Dis scarf is vort $12 and dis muff — »
«Biff!» came the palm of the Kid's powerful hand upon the policeman's mouth. Kohen staggered and rallied. Molly screamed. The detective threw himself upon Brady and with Kohen's aid got the nippers on his wrist.
«The scarf is vort $12 and the muff is vort $9,» persisted the policeman. «Vot is dis talk about $1,000 saples?»
The Kid sat upon a pile of lumber and his face turned dark red.
«Correct, Solomonski!» he declared, viciously. «I paid $21.50 for the set. I'd rather have got six months and not have told it. Me, the swell guy that wouldn't look at anything cheap! I'm a plain bluffer. Moll—my salary couldn't spell sables in Russian.»
Molly cast herself upon his neck.
«What do I care for all the sables and money in the world,» she cried. «It's my Kiddy I want. Oh, you dear, stuck–up, crazy blockhead!»
«You can take dose nippers off,» said Kohen to the detective.» Before I leaf de station de report come in dat de lady vind her saples—hanging in her wardrobe. Young man, I excuse you dat punch in my vace—dis von time.»