“Is that the only reason you accuse him—because he sat near your satchel?” he asked.
“Why—er—yes, to be sure. Isn’t that reason enough?”
“It wouldn’t be for me, young man. I don’t see that you can do anything about it. You say he took something of yours, and he says he didn’t. That’s six of one and a half-dozen of the other. You ought to have your satchel locked if you carry valuables in it.”
“It was locked, but I opened it and forgot to lock it again.”
“That’s up to you then,” and the agent’s sympathies seemed to be with Joe.
“Well, but it won’t do, you know. It won’t do at all!” protested “R. V.,” this time pleadingly. “I must have my things back!”
“Then you had better go to the police,” broke in the agent.
“If you like, though I’ve never done such a thing before, I’ll submit to a search,” said Joe, the red blood mantling to his cheeks as he thought of the needless indignity. “I can refer to several well-known persons who will vouch for me, but if you feel——”
“All aboard!” suddenly called the conductor of the stalled train, coming into the depot. “We just got word that we can proceed. If we can reach the next junction before the fast mail, we can go ahead of her and get around the wreck. Lively now! All aboard!”
There was a scramble in which Joe and “R. V.” took a part. All of the passengers were anxious to proceed, and if haste meant that they could avoid further delay they were willing to hasten. The engineer whistled impatiently, and men and women scrambled into the coaches they had left.