“Well, I’ll find a place for him to disport himself other than this,” said Tom, decidedly. “He isn’t going to spend the night in your back yard.”
“Oh, Tom, don’t be foolish. He is as quiet as a lamb. He hasn’t been drinking to-day.”
“I tell you, Berty, he’s got to come out. If you make a fuss, I’ll call Bonny down.”
“Why, Tom Everest, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Your face is as red as a beet. What about the Golden Rule?”
“I beg your pardon, Berty,” said Tom, trying to look calm, “but I know more about tramps than you do. This fellow may be a thief.”
“Tom—suppose you were the thief, and the thief were you? Would you like him to talk about you that way?”
“Yes, I’d enjoy it. Come, Berty, lead the way.”
“What do you want to do with him?” asked the girl, curiously.
“Put him in the street.”
“Well, suppose he is a thief. He may rob your neighbour’s house.”