“Hang it!” cried Dick, forgetting his suavity. “It’s no joke, Webster. I tell you, Coote never took the thing.”
“You were here in the shop, of course, and saw him?” said the tradesman.
“No, I wasn’t,” said Dick; “you know that as well as I do.”
“Coote,” said Heathcote, feeling it his turn to back up—“Coote’s a gentleman; not a thief.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Mr Webster. “He’s sure he’s not both?”
“I’m positive,” said Coote.
“And is that all you’ve come to say?” said the bookseller.
“No,” said Dick. “It’s an awful shame if you can’t believe us. But if you won’t—well, we’d sooner pay you for the pencil and have done with it.”
Mr Webster was charmed. He had always imagined himself a sharp man and he was sure of it now. For a minute or two the boys’ joint protestations of innocence had staggered his belief in Coote’s guilt; but this ingenuous offer convinced him he had been right after all.
“Oh, you didn’t steal it, but you’re going to pay for it, are you? Very pretty! What do you think it was worth?”