Max flushed. This grilling burned his soul. “You could ask your cook. It happened three weeks ago last Thursday night.”
The man smiled. “I guess you’re straight. What do you think the stuff is worth?”
Max’s temper was up. Depressed at first, he was angry now, and answered the man a trifle defiantly. “In business the man who pays does not set the price, but the man who sells. In this case I am at your mercy. You can have me apprehended on my own confession, and whatever I say now will prejudice you against me. The food I took measured by the value of the peace of mind I shall have when I know it is paid for, is worth more money than I shall be able to earn in many years. Measured by its cost to you I have no means of knowing its value because I only saw a little of it.”
“How is that?”
“I snatched all I could carry, gave most of it to one hungrier than I, and ran as fast and as far as I could.”
“Then you were really hungry? You did not rob for fun, or hoping to find more valuable stuff?”
“Fun! I cannot conceive of anyone doing that.”
The man was considering. “Hungry! As a boy I don’t remember when I wasn’t hungry. But I always had three square meals with ‘pieces’ besides. How long had you gone without eating?”
“Twenty-four hours.”
“Why didn’t you get work?”