“That boy! The stolen boy!” burst out the constable. “We have come for him, and we’re going to have him. Surrender, I tell you,” and he brought his gun to bear.
“Say, put that weapon aside!” exclaimed the man, and Larry, as he caught the smooth and cultivated accents in his voice, began to understand something that had been puzzling him. At the same time he felt a sense of great disappointment.
“Do you give up the boy?” cried Bob.
“Give him up! I guess not! Are you crazy?”
Some of the tramps were laughing now, and, as for the boy, he was smiling.
“Give him up or we’ll take him!” threatened Mr. Meldron. “We know all about him, and we’re going to have him and restore him to his mother.”
“Oh, are you?” coolly asked the man on the porch. “Well, you won’t have far to go to do that, seeing that she’s here. Alice!” he called, and a well-dressed lady came out on the stoop. Her face wore a puzzled expression.
“Gentlemen, I don’t know who you are,” went on the man on the porch smoothly, “but this lady is my wife, and that is my son, whom you talk of taking away. I guess you’ve made a mistake.”
“What? Ain’t he the kidnapped son of Madame Androletti?” demanded the constable, much crestfallen.
“Not a bit of it,” came the firm answer, “though I don’t mind admitting that this is a kidnapping play.”