Jimmie flushed crimson. “You can't bribe me,” he growled. At least, he tried to growl, but because his voice was changing, or because he was excited the growl ended in a high squeak. With mortification, Jimmie flushed a deeper crimson. But the stranger was not amused. At Jimmie's words he seemed rather the more amazed.
“I'm not trying to bribe you,” he protested. “If you don't want anything, why are you holding me up?”
“I'm not,” returned Jimmie, “I'm arresting you!”
The stranger laughed with relief. Again his eyes smiled. “Oh,” he cried, “I see! Have I been trespassing?”
With a glance Jimmie measured the distance between himself and the stranger. Reassured, he lifted one leg after the other over the wall. “If you try to rush me,” he warned, “I'll shoot you full of buckshot.”
The stranger took a hasty step BACKWARD. “Don't worry about that,” he exclaimed. “I'll not rush you. Why am I arrested?”
Hugging the shotgun with his left arm, Jimmie stopped and lifted the binoculars. He gave them a swift glance, slung them over his shoulder, and again clutched his weapon. His expression was now stern and menacing.
“The name on them” he accused, “is 'Weiss, Berlin.' Is that your name?” The stranger smiled, but corrected himself, and replied gravely, “That's the name of the firm that makes them.”
Jimmie exclaimed in triumph. “Hah!” he cried, “made in Germany!”
The stranger shook his head.