"What are you going to do?" demanded my uncle, as he glanced at the club in Tom's hand.
"I am going to make that boy tell me where the girl is," replied Tom.
"With that stick?"
"Yes, with this stick."
"You will never find the girl in that way," said my uncle, shaking his head. "Throw your stick away."
"But the rascal insulted me with almost every word he spoke," growled Tom.
"I told you to handle him gently. You can't drive him."
"But he must tell me where the girl is."
"He will not, of course. If he thinks the girl has been abused, he is just foolish enough to take her part, and would be pounded to a jelly before he would tell you a word about her. If you are careful you can find out where the girl is. Probably he carried her off in the boat. You say it must have been nearly dark when he left Cannondale. He could not have gone far with her. Either she is at Mr. Hale's in Parkville, or she is concealed somewhere in this vicinity."
Uncle Amos appeared to gasp with the mighty effort this long speech had cost him.