“What is this?” he asked indignantly. “A hold-up?”
“If you want to call it that,” answered Toby steadily. “All I want is the purse you stole from my pocket in Eastman’s. You hand it over and we’ll let you go.”
“Aw, I never saw you before,” snarled the man. “Get out of here before I hand you something, kids. It won’t be no purse, neither!” He tugged in an effort to free himself from their grasps, but they held on hard.
“Want us to shout?” asked Arnold significantly. The man’s belligerent gaze wavered. He cast a swift and dubious look toward the officer.
“Well, what is it you want?” he muttered.
“You know,” said Toby. “A small yellow coin-purse with eight dollars in it. Come on, now. You’d better be sensible.”
“I ain’t got any purse, honest. You can search me, boys!”
“Then you threw it away,” responded Toby. “It cost me seventy-five cents, but it was sort of ripping on the seams, so we’ll call it fifty. Eight-fifty is what I want from you then.”
“Well, I’ll be blowed!” said the man with a trace of unwilling admiration. Then he actually chuckled. “Say, kid, you’ve got your nerve, all right, ain’t you? Say, I kinder think maybe you ought to have it. You was decent not to squeal to the cop. All right, kid, you win! But you got to let go my arms if you want me to dig for it.”
Toby questioned Arnold with a glance. “Give him his right arm, Toby,” said Arnold. “If he starts to go, grab him again. I’ve got him here.”