“That’s for you to find out,” cried Ralph, growing rather heated, for the sergeant’s manner implied that he did not place much credence in the boy’s story.
“Ow! For h’us to find h’out, h’is h’it?”
“Of course. We have reported them as suspicious persons. If we can see the inspector, I will give him full details.”
“You will, will yer. Well, that’s bloomin’ condescending h’of yer. The h’inspector ’as to go to a dawnce ter-night, and h’if yer wants ter see ’im, you’ll ’ave to come around to-morrer.”
“You refuse to let us see him, then?”
Ralph was red hot by this time.
“H’I do, yes. By wurtue of the h’authority in me wested. H’as h’if h’I’d disturb ’im for a bunch h’of kids!”
“You may be sorry,” warned Ralph. “In our opinion, there is some work of grave import going forward,—probably smuggling,—although of that we are not certain.”
“Oh, what’s the use of talking to him!” exclaimed Persimmons, glaring at the placid sergeant. “Thank goodness, we’re Americans and get after our law-breakers, instead of going out to pink teas when there is work to be done!”
“Yes, I guess the American police and Custom officials keep their eyes open, in which respect they offer a refreshing contrast to the Canadian authorities,” sputtered Harry Ware equally irritably.