“Poh! couldn’t the villain have ripped off that plate?”
“Not very easily. Besides, Kirke, if Sing Wung really meant to sell the collar, why didn’t he carry it home with him yesterday?”
“Perhaps he couldn’t screw his courage up. He might have been afraid of getting caught taking it.”
Though by nature unsuspicious, Kirke was a boy of strong prejudices. Since making up his mind that the Chinaman was guilty of a crime, he could no longer tolerate him.
“But how are we going to prove that Sing Wung put the collar in the hedge?” asked Paul earnestly. “Mr. Keith says it isn’t fair to condemn anybody on circumstantial evidence.”
“Fudge! What more evidence does he want? Didn’t we both see Sing Wung stoning my Shot? And has anybody set eyes on my Shot from that day to this?”
“No,” said Paul, “it does look dark against Sing Wung, I confess, and I’m just as mad with him as you are.”
“I shouldn’t think Mr. Keith would keep such a sneak. He ought to discharge him, and I’ve a great mind to tell him so,” returned Kirke, as if his opinion and advice would carry great weight with that gentleman.
“Oh, he can’t discharge him now, Kirke! How can he, right in the height of the barley harvest?”
“He can hire somebody else.”