“Didn’t you have hold of the string when the boat went up?” persisted the young villain.
“I did, but”—
“There, father, he owns up to all I ask him to confess,” interposed Waddie.
“I own up to nothing,” I replied, indignantly. “I say, again, I had nothing to do with the explosion, and knew nothing about it till the boat blew up.”
“What do you mean, you young rascal?” stormed the colonel. “One moment you say you had hold of the string, and the next that you knew nothing about it.”
“If you wish me to explain the matter, I will do so; if not, I won’t,” I added, disgusted with the evident intention of the magnate to convict me, whether guilty or not.
“Will you confess that you had a hand in the mischief?”
“No, I will not.”
“But, you young rascal”—
“I am not a rascal, Colonel Wimpleton. If either of us is a rascal, you are the one, not I,” I continued, goaded to desperation by his injustice.