All this time George Melville had spoken in his usual tone of voice, and the tramp was puzzled to know whether he had any weapon with him. For himself, he was unarmed, and this made him feel rather ill at ease, notwithstanding his superiority in physical strength. He was rather disposed to think that George Melville had a pistol, for he could not understand how otherwise he should dare to confront a man of twice his size and strength.
“I don't care for the spoons,” he said, “but I will take the money.”
“No, you will return the money,” said Melville, calmly.
“Who will make me?” demanded the tramp, defiantly.
“I will.”
“We'll see about that!” said the tramp, desperately, and he sprang towards Melville, who had in the meantime entered the house and stood only six feet distant.
“Stay where you are!” exclaimed Melville, resolutely, and he drew a pistol, which he leveled at his formidable antagonist.
“That settles it, stranger!” said the tramp, “You've got the advantage of me this time. Just wait till we meet again.”
“I am willing to wait for some time,” said Melville, shrugging his shoulders. “I have no desire to cultivate your acquaintance, my friend.”
“There are the spoons!” said the tramp, throwing them down on the table.