"That's right. I seen him myself," said Mike, still scratching his head. "I'll just have a look inside that pocket-book."
"Ye will not—that's my property!" said Farmer Weeks, reaching quickly for the wallet.
But Mike was too quick for him, and in a moment he had opened the wallet, and could see that it was empty, except for a few torn pieces of paper, evidently put in it to stuff it out, and deceive people into thinking that it contained a wad of bills.
"What sort of game are yez tryin' to put up on us here?" demanded the policeman, angrily. "Here, take yer book—"
"She's as much guilty of theft as if there had been a hundred dollars in it," said Farmer Weeks, recovering from his dismay at the exposure of the trick. "You arrest her or I'll—"
"What will yez do, ye spalpeen?" said the policeman. "If ye get gay wid me I'll run yez in—and don't be afther forgettin' that, either!"
As he spoke he turned, angrily, to observe a small boy who was tugging at his sleeve.
"Say, mister, say," begged the boy, "listen here a minute, will yer? I seen the old guy slip his purse into her pocket. She never took it."