“There warn’t much whisky left in the jug. He must have absorbed most of it.”
Now Mr. Tripp’s indignation was turned against this new individual.
“Where is my money, you villain?” he demanded, hotly.
“Whaz-zer matter?” hiccoughed Ramsay.
“You came into my store last night and stole some money.”
“Is zis zer store? It was jolly fun,” and the inebriate laughed.
“Yes, it is. Where is the money you took?”
“Spent it for whisky.”
“No, you didn’t. You found the whisky here.”
Ramsay made no reply.