Without warning Butch produced a small packet of bills from his trouser-pocket.
"Djever see them before?" he enquired, with his mocking smile.
Joan gasped: "My money—!"
"Uh-huh," Butch nodded. "Fell outa your bag when you side-stepped the Old Man and beat it, last night. He didn't see it, and I sneaked the bunch while he wasn't lookin'. G'wan—take it."
He thrust the money into her fingers that closed convulsively upon it. For a moment she choked and gulped, on the verge of tears, so overpowering was the sense of relief.
"O Butch—!"
"Ah, cut that out. It's your money, all right—ain't it?"
She began with trembling fingers to count the bills. Butch tilted his head to one side and regarded her with undisguised disgust.
"Say, you must have a swell opinion of me, kid, to think I'd hold out on you!"
She stared bewildered.