“Now pay for it, Jake,” prompted Wentworth.
“Never mind!” said Peter hastily, “’nother time will do!”
“Jake has money. He doesn’t need credit,” said Wentworth.
“Yes, I’ve got money,” stammered Amsden, and pulled out the wallet he had stolen from Wentworth.
“Give it to me, I’ll pay,” said Wentworth, and Jake yielded, not knowing the full meaning of what was going on.
“I take you to witness, Gerald,” said Wentworth, “this is my pocketbook, which this man Amsden stole from me last night. I’ll keep it.”
“Stop there, gemmen!” said Pete Johnson. “Dat don’t go down. Dat wallet belongs to Jake, I’ve seen him have it a dozen times. I won’t ’low no stealin’ in my saloon.”
“Be careful, Mr. Johnson,” said Wentworth sternly. “There are papers in this wallet that prove my ownership. You evidently intended to relieve Jake of the wallet when he was sleeping off the effects of the whisky. If you make a fuss I’ll have you arrested as a confederate of Jake Amsden in the robbing.”
“’Fore Hebbin, massa!” said Peter, becoming alarmed, “I didn’t know Jake stole the money.”