“Christened James,” said Jim, dryly, “and with a handle in front of it when I’m smoking a fifteen-cent cigar.”
“Yer wanted, Mister James McAllister,” returned the other. “Come along, cigar an’ all.”
“Who wants me?”
“Sheriff Corker.”
“Lead me to him, sonny. I can do some business with the sheriff myself. But I’m in a hurry.”
They walked along side by side. The sheriff was not at home.
“We’ll wait,” said the policeman to the sheriff’s cook.
Jim McAllister looked at his watch.
“I guess not,” he said. “We’ll call again, some other day.”
“Guess again,” returned the young man in blue.