Lon thrust a hand into the bosom of his coat, and struck an attitude.
“Now what do you think o’ me as a sleuth? Ain’t I a reg’lar Shylock Holmes?”
“Sherlock Holmes,” corrected Sam.
“Oh, wal, Shylock’s the name that sort o’ sticks in my head. Guess he must ’a’ been Sherlock’s brother. But then there was Hannibal, too.”
Sam threw up his hands in mock despair. “Go on! Give me the yarn!”
“Wal, me ’n’ Hannibal was goin’ down-town to do an errand for your ma, and we cut across by Lane’s blacksmith shop. The door was open. I was for paradin’ by, unnoticin’, but Hannibal began to growl and scooted for that door. Somethin’ made me whistle him back, and I was tickled I did; for when I peeked in, there was Peter Groche, big as life and uglier’n ever, tryin’ to sell this wrench to old man Lane for a dime. I knew it was ours the minute I clapped eyes on’t, but I jest thought I’d wait a little and listen to what Mr. Groche was purrin’. And he was explainin’ to Mr. Lane that he’d been away for a day or two, and that he was back in town jest to settle his affairs, ’cause he’d picked up a reg’lar job, choppin’ in the woods up Payne’s Stream, and he was goin’ there soon’s he’d cashed in on a little portable property he had no further use for. And then, seein’ as how Hannibal was gettin’ uneasy, I walked in and took Mr. Groche by the collar, and walked him out o’ the shop, and took away the wrench, and told him I guessed there was one bargain sale he’d have to call off.”
Sam’s eyes were opened widely. “Gee! but it took nerve to tackle him! They say he’s an awful scrapper.”
“Mebbe it wasn’t his scrappin’ day. And, of course, a bull terrier growlin’ ’round a feller’s legs is kinder disconcertin’—say, Sam, Hannibal showed plain enough he’d got a score to even with Groche. Don’t wonder at that! ’Member the mornin’ the dog come limpin’ home? Wal, anyhow, Peter didn’t put up a fight. He jest scowled, and cussed, and swore he’d found the wrench. Then I told him I supposed the wrench must ’a’ met him on the street and followed him home, and he shut up on that part of it. Then I called him a thief, and a few other pet names; and he acted queer, I swan he did!”
“What did he do?”
“Swelled up like a frog. Didn’t call names back at me, but behaved contemptuous-like, as if I was a cheap ’un to worry about a plain old wrench. Said he had money enough to buy me; or, anyhow, he knew where he could get a bunch of it for the askin’. Then I laughed at him, and he puffed up more’n ever. What’d I think of an even hundred dollars, heh? Wal, it was his, whenever he chose to say ’bout a dozen words. And there wa’n’t nobody else in Plainville that could say ’em. He knew something, he did! And then he sputtered so there was no makin’ head or tail of his nonsense.”