"
"You surely don't think I would take anything that doesn't belong
to me--you can't mean that?"
"Ain't saying what I mean. Hand over that bag."
With burning cheeks, Phil did as he was bid, his unwavering eyes
fixed almost sternly on the wrathful face of Abner Adams.
"Huh!" growled the old man, tumbling the contents out on the
floor, shaking Phil's clothes to make sure that nothing was
concealed in them.
Apparently satisfied, the old man threw the bag on the floor with
an exclamation of disgust. Phil once more gathered up his
belongings and stowed them away in the satchel.
"Turn out your pockets!"
"There is nothing in them, Uncle, save some trinkets of my own
and my mother's picture."
"Turn them out!" thundered the old man.
"Uncle, I have always obeyed you. Obedience was one of the
things that my mother taught me, but I'm sure that were she here
she would tell me I was right in refusing to humiliate myself as
you would have me do. There is nothing in my pockets that does
not belong to me. I am not a thief."
"Then I'll turn them out myself!" snarled Abner Adams, starting
forward.
Phil stepped back a pace, satchel in hand.
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