"What do you mean?" demanded Bert angrily.
"What do I mean?" gasped Jones. "You know what I mean well enough. I never knew such audacity."
"Please explain yourself, Mr. Jones," said Bert with spirit. "I didn't come here to be insulted."
"You are a hardened young reprobate! Do you mean to say you didn't steal this twenty-dollar bill from my desk, where I laid it five minutes since?"
"I don't know anything about any twenty-dollar bill of yours, Mr. Jones. This money is mine, or rather my mother's, and I brought it with me from home."
"Do you expect me to believe this bold falsehood, Bert Barton?" the store-keeper exploded wrathfully.
"I don't expect you to believe any falsehood at all, Mr. Jones. Will you either change that bill or give it back to me?"
"I will do neither."
"Then, sir, it is you who are the thief."
"You impudent young rascal, now I won't have any mercy on you. For your mother's sake, I might have done so, but as you persist in brazening out your guilt, I will see that you have a chance to repent. Here is the constable come in just at the right moment. Mr. Drake, please come here."