“Ten dollars!” said the tramp, disdainfully. “What do you take me for?” “It is a large sum of money to me and my husband, sir,” said the poor woman, nervously. “It isn't enough for me! You have got more money in the house. Don't lie to me! You know you have.” “I am not used to be talked to in that way,” said Mrs. Cole, forgetting her timidity for the moment. “I can't help what you are used to; you'd better not trifle with me. Go upstairs and bring down the rest of the money--do you hear?” “Oh, sir!” “'Oh, sir!'” repeated the tramp, impatiently. “I can't stay here all day. Are you going to do as I tell you?” “I suppose I must,” said the poor woman. “That's sensible. You'll find out after a while that nothing is to be gained by trying to fool me. I'll give you just three minutes to find that money and bring it down.” “You'll leave the spoons, then?” “No; I want them, as I've already told you. Come, two minutes are passed. I don't want to kill you, but--” Mrs. Cole uttered a shriek of dismay, and turned to obey the command of her unwelcome visitor, when a loud, clear voice was heard from just outside the window. “Stay where you are, Mrs. Cole! There is help at hand. This ruffian shall not harm you.” It was the voice of George Melville. The tramp turned swiftly and stared in ill-disguised dismay at Melville and Herbert. “What business is it of yours?” he demanded, in a blustering tone. “We make it our business to defend this lady from your thievish designs,” said Melville. “You!” exclaimed the tramp, contemptuously. “Why, I could twist either of you round my little finger.” “You'd better not try it!” said Melville, not showing the least trepidation. “Mrs. Cole, has this man anything of yours in his possession?” “He has my spoons and I have just handed him ten dollars.” George Melville turned to the tramp. “Be kind enough to lay the spoons on the table,” he said, “and give back the ten dollars Mrs. Cole handed you.” “You must think I'm a fool!” said the tramp. “No; but I think you are a prudent man. If you do as I say we will let you go; if not--” “Well, if not?” blustered the tramp. “If not, you may regret it.” All this time George Melville had spoken in his usual tone of voice, and the tramp was puzzled to know whether he had any weapon with him. For himself, he was unarmed, and this made him feel rather ill at ease, notwithstanding his superiority in physical strength. He was rather disposed to think that George Melville had a pistol, for he could not understand how otherwise he should dare to confront a man of twice his size and strength. “I don't care for the spoons,” he said, “but I will take the money.” “No, you will return the money,” said Melville, calmly. “Who will make me?” demanded the tramp, defiantly. “I will.” “We'll see about that!” said the tramp, desperately, and he sprang towards Melville, who had in the meantime entered the house and stood only six feet distant.