“Somebody hurt,” said Ralph to himself, and began to hasten up the beach toward the clump of bushes.
As his footsteps crunched on the gravel the voice broke out afresh:
“It’s the boy’s wallet, I tell you. You mustn’t steal it! Give it back! Give it back!”
Much mystified at this mention of the wallet, Ralph parted the bushes. He had hardly done so, when he started back with an exclamation. Old man Whey lay there in a crumpled heap. Apparently he was injured. But Ralph soon discovered that although the old man’s face had been bruised by a brutal blow he was not badly hurt.
Old man Whey lay there in a crumpled heap.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Whey?” asked the boy, blaming himself for his suspicions of the old man. “What has happened?”
“Oh, is it you, my boy?” asked the old man, opening his eyes. “Three men came to the hut while you were asleep. I had dozed off and opened my eyes in time to see them taking something from under your pillow.”
“Those men!” cried Ralph, guessing the truth. “Were there three of them?”
“Yes. I saw them take your wallet. I chased them and told them to give it back, but they laughed at me and then struck my face as you see, and threw me into these bushes. I’m not much hurt, but I’m half dead from fright.”