“Ain’t got none,” was the laconic remark.
“I know him,” put in one of the officers. “He’s Patsy Dolliver. Lives down at Mulberry Bend and he’s a bad egg, if ever I knew one. Ain’t you, Patsy?”
Finding that it was useless to try and hide his identity, Patsy admitted his name, and then his age, residence, and a few other facts were noted down concerning him. The officer told his story.
The woman also related how Patsy had grabbed her purse, and the Italian told in excited language about his lost peanuts.
All the while Larry was making notes of names and residences, including that of the woman whose purse had been so nearly lost.
“I’ll hold you for a hearing before the judge,” the sergeant announced to the prisoner. “You’ll have to come in the morning as witnesses,” he added to the woman and the peanut man. “Lock him up, Jim,” to the doorman, indicating Patsy; and the remarkable incident was closed for the time being.
But Larry, with the facts in his possession and a lively recollection of what had taken place, hurried to the Leader office.
“I just wish I could write it, but I don’t s’pose I can, yet,” he said. “But I can tell one of the reporters and he can fix it up.”
He found Mr. Newton there ahead of him, and to the reporter Larry in breathless tones told what had happened.
“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Newton. “You just tell that to Mr. Emberg himself. He’ll be glad to know you are so wide-awake. One of the men will write for you. Perhaps it will be a beat for us.”