my luck, as the sayin' goes. I stopped in here to ask a little assistance."
"Then why didn't you ask it, instead of crawling in under there?"
"I—er—well, I hate to beg." The sailor shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "Excuse me, cap'n, an' I'll be on my way." And he started to walk off.
"Hold on, not so fast," put in Oliver, who had come down with the others. "How long have you been here?"
"I didn't touch anything," was the reply, and the face of the one-armed man grew dark.
"Didn't you? What is that sticking out of the bosom of your shirt? It looks a good deal like a set of silver spoons—and it is!"
As Oliver concluded he stepped closer, and before the sailor could prevent him, he pulled from the shirt twelve spoons which we instantly recognized as some which belonged to the Raymond household.
"A sneak thief!" ejaculated Mr. Raymond. "We've caught you very nicely, my man."
"Hang the luck!" burst from the one-armed man's lips. "Let me go!"
Before we could realize what he was up to he had hurled Oliver and his father to one side and was bounding down the grassy bank at a speed that would have done credit to a trained athlete.
