“I’m waiting for you, Mr. Penniman,” said Synders, as we went up to the gate.
“I hope you haven’t had to wait long,” replied my father, gently.
“Long enough,” added the constable, gruffly.
“What can I do for you?” inquired my father, rather anxiously, I thought, though his face wore a good-natured smile.
“Nothing for me, but you can do something for Colonel Wimpleton.”
“What can I do for him?”
“Pay the note of two thousand dollars which was due at noon to-day,” continued Synders, maliciously.
“Colonel Wimpleton knows very well that my money was stolen from me, and that I cannot pay him,” replied my father.
“It’s nothing to him that your money was stolen. You must pay the note.”
“I can’t do that.”