. It struck Penny that he looked more
like a football player than a crook. Yet, as she studied his face, she
realized that it lacked character.

"Don't turn me over to the police," the boy begged. "I've done nothing
wrong."

"Then why were you hiding in my garage?"

"It's true the police were chasing me," he admitted reluctantly, "but
they mistook me for someone else."

"If you weren't guilty why did you run?" Penny demanded suspiciously.
"Why didn't you wait and explain?"

"You can't explain to a cop," the boy told her with a scornful curl of
his lip. "You see, I have a juvenile court record--it doesn't amount
to much but the police won't give me a chance. I've been trying to go
straight, but every move I make they watch me."

"Tell me your name."

The boy hesitated, then said quietly:

"Jerry Barrows."

"I mean your real name," Penny smiled.

A telltale flush crept over the youth's face, but he threw back his
head a trifle defiantly.

"It is my real name. I'm no thief either. I admit I've been in a
little trouble before this, but today it wasn't my fault. Another
fellow and myself were standing in a crowd when an old lady let out a
holler that someone had picked her pocketbook. The police came
running. They spotted me right off. I hadn't been near the old lady,
but she was so excited she was ready to identify anyone. When the cops
tried to arrest me on suspicion I took to my heels."

"What sort of juvenile court record do you have?" Penny asked.

"Nothing of consequence. Once I was in a gang that took some apples
from a pushcart. It was done in fun, but the judge put me on probation
on account of it."

Penny occasionally had visited juvenile court sessions and in many
respects the stories she had heard there corresponded to Jerry Barrows'
account of his difficulties. Yet in some ways his tale did not ring
true. Obviously, he was trying to convey the impression that he had
never had a chance and yet he wore expensive clothing. She suspected
too that he had been educated in a school fully as good as the one she
attended.

"I am sorry, but I must turn you over to the police," she told him. "I
don't believe your story. It doesn't hang together."

A strange change came over the boy's face. The last trace of arrogance
left him as he turned pleading eyes upon the two girls.

"I lied about my name," he admitted, "but I did it because I want to
protect my mother. If she learns that I