It had never occurred to him before. Perhaps the culprit was Tom himself; perhaps it was he who, for some reason of his own, had cut the line and caused all the mischief.
If that were so, what a relief and what a satisfaction it would be! Riddell felt that if Tom himself were the wrong-doer he could almost embrace him, so great would be his joy at knowing that no Willoughby boy was guilty of the crime. But it was too good a notion to be true, and Tom soon dispelled it.
“I tell you,” continued he, vehemently, but looking down so as to avoid the captain’s eye. “I tell you I aren’t done it, there. It’s no use your trying to fix it on me. Do you suppose I wouldn’t know if I’d done it? You blame the right parties, governor, do you hear? I ain’t done it.”
“I never said you did,” replied Riddell, feeling he had by this time got the upper hand in the argument, “but you know who did.”
“There you go. How do I know? I don’t know, and I ain’t done it.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” said Riddell, “the lines could have been cut and you not know it? Don’t you sleep in the boat-house?”
“In course I do—but I ain’t done it, there!”
“Don’t be a young fool, Tom,” said Riddell, sternly. “What I want to know is who did do it.”
“How do you suppose I know?” demanded the boy.
“Who did do it?” again repeated Riddell.