"Didn't steal 'em, I tell you; I bought the skates fair and square
from Hugh here. You're all down on me, and won't listen to a thing I
say; that's the worst of it."

The tall head of the Scranton police force held up something he had
been carrying all the while.

"Here's the skates he had, Hugh," he went on to say. "Thad tells me
they are your property. He even showed me your initials scratched on
each skate. Take a good look at the same, and let me know about it,
will you, before I lug this sneak off to the lock-up. I reckon he's
headed for the Reform School this time, sure!"

At that Nick grew even more sallow than before, if such a thing were
possible; and the fear in his eyes became almost pitiable.

Hugh, meaning to make a straight job of his idea, calmly looked the
skates over. He knew full well how Nick was watching his every
action, trying to hug just a glimmer of hope to his heart that,
perhaps, Hugh might be merciful, and let him off, as the skates were
now once again in his possession. The shadow of the Reformatory
loomed up dreadfully close to Nick Lang just then, darker than he had
ever before imagined it could look. It terrified him, too, and
caused him to shiver as though someone had dashed a bucket of
ice-cold water over him unexpectedly.

"Yes, I recognize these skates very well, Chief," Hugh told the
waiting officer.