"As if a girl would
want that," and his voice was almost mocking.
"Well, it might have been dynamite," and the man who wore brass
buttons shook his head sagely.
"A girl steal a can of dynamite," repeated Mr. Breslin mockingly.
The officers were trying to see who was in the hammock. But the man
therein sank back into the cushions, while Jack carelessly slipped
his chair directly in front of him.
"Why didn't you take it when you saw it?" asked the town's mayor.
"Well," explained the other man, "we didn't fancy the blow-up. We
went for Mulligan who knows about such things, and when we came back
it was gone."
"You had better tell that story before the jury," and the sarcasm in
Mr. Breslin's tone was unmistakable. "Suppose you tell them that a
girl took what you were afraid to touch!"
Seeing that it was useless to argue with the mayor, they turned to
leave.
"Wait," he said good naturedly, "I have my boat here. Take a ride
with me. It's better than walking the dusty roads. Good evening,"
he said. "Mr. Fennelly," (to Mr. Starr,) "I hope you will regain
your health by the time your son has to return to college!"
"Fennelly," said one officer to the other. "That's not the name, it
was Starr! We're on the wrong trail." And they hurried away. Thus
had Mr. Breslin saved the hermit from having to testify.
"Laurel," Cora said wearily, "let us go for a little walk.
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