"I'm willing to do that," said Richard. "But I'm no thief," he continued
as they walked over to the baggage-room.
"Yes, but that man's name--" began one of the men.
"Was Joyce--Timothy Joyce!" cried the boy. "I knew I would remember
it sooner or later."
The official took a piece of chalk and scratched the name upon the
bottom of the valise.
"That one is yours?"
"Yes; here is my name on the bottom," and Richard showed it.
"All right. You can go. If Mr. Joyce calls he can get his property,
otherwise it will be forwarded to the main baggage office in New York."
"Hold up! Not so fast," put in Doc Linyard. "Just give him a receipt
for that valise."
"Oh, that's all right," replied the man, turning red.
"Maybe so. But I don't see as how he ought to trust you any more than
you trusted him," went on the tar bluntly.
"That's fair," put in an old man, who had stood watching the
proceedings. "'What's sauce for the goose is the sauce for the gander.'"
With very bad grace the official wrote down something on a pad, tore
the page off and thrust it at Richard.
"I hope you're satisfied," he snapped to Doc Linyard; and taking up
Mr. Joyce's valise he entered an inner room, slamming the door behind
him.
"Good riddance to him," muttered the old tar.
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