“You needn’t worry about us,” said Charlie, cheerfully, winking at Jack, as if it was his opinion the man had wheels in his head. “We don’t expect to be paid for what we did for you.”
The man saw the wink, and was evidently offended.
“Look here, my lads,” he said gruffly; “you think because I look like a tramp that I’m a regular hobo—maybe that I’m talking through my hat. I reckon I kin prove what I say.”
Then he began looking around the room.
“I had a grip with me this morning. Do you know what became of it?”
“I guess that’s it over in the corner,” said Charlie, pointing. “I took hold of it awhile ago, and I must say it’s precious heavy. What have you got in it—gold?” he concluded, with a grin.
“Fetch it here and I’ll show you,” said Prawle.
Charlie brought it forward and laid it at the man’s feet.
The stranger started to bend down to undo the straps, but fell back in the chair with a groan.
“Give me another drink!” he gasped, plaintively, while the perspiration indicative of physical weakness appeared on his forehead.