“He swiped our butter and our bread,” said Chub.
“Shucks! That was just a sort of joke. Look at the way he talked back at the Doctor about those old play-writers! Think burglars know about—what was it, Dick?”
“Early Elizabethan Dramas,” answered Dick glibly.
“Some might,” answered Chub, warming to the argument. “Look at that fellow in the book.”
“Raffles? Pshaw, that was just fiction; I’m talking about real burglars.”
“Well, it’s mighty funny,” grunted Chub. “And I think we ought to ask him point-blank what he’s up to.”
“That would be polite!” scoffed Dick. “Why, we wouldn’t do that to a Greaser out West. You haven’t any sense of hospitality; and you’re too suspicious, besides.”
“That’s what he said,” murmured Chub.
“And he was right. The idea of accusing him of going to shoot you!”