"You go on into the house. I'll take care of this hound."
Margaret retreated within the parsonage gate; her very soul was
sick. She longed for the ground to open and swallow her forever.
It would be bad enough for a man to make such an exhibition at any
time; but to make it when he was about to be married!--and in such
circumstances!--to squabble and scream over a paltry dollar or so!
"Here's a policeman!" cried Craig. "Now, you thief, we'll see!"
The cabman sprang down from his seat. "You damn jay!" he bellowed.
"You don't know New York cabfares. Was you ever to town before--
eh?"
Craig beckoned the policeman with vast, excited gestures. Margaret
fled up the walk toward the parsonage door, but not before she
heard Craig say to the policeman:
"I am Joshua Craig, assistant to the Attorney-General of the
United States. This thief here--" And so on until he had told the
whole story. Margaret kept her back to the street, but she could
hear the two fiercely-angry voices, the laughter of the crowd. At
last Craig joined her--panting, flushed, triumphant. "I knew he
was a thief. Four dollars was the right amount, but I gave him
five, as the policeman said it was best to quiet him.
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