HARRY'S SECRET.
On his way home Joe's thoughts were very busy. He well remembered that
Harry had wanted two dollars more with which to pay for the silk hat.
The hat had been bought. Where had his brother procured the needed sum?
"I'll never believe he took the box--never!" he told himself, over and
over again. "Harry is too honest for anything of that sort."
He wanted to ask his brother about the two dollars as soon as he
arrived home, but, for some reason, could not bring himself to do so.
He told his mother about the missing box and she became interested
immediately.
"Some sneak thief must have taken it," she said. "I declare, Lakeport
is not as safe a place to live in as it used to be."
"I saw that box when I was down to the store," said Harry. "It was not
over three feet from the window."
"Did you see anybody in the alleyway?" asked Joe.
"No," answered Harry, and then he turned away to bring in some wood for
the wood-box. He had his arm full of sticks when his father came into
the yard.
"Harry!" called out Mr. Westmore. "Wait a minute; I want to speak to
you."
"Yes, sir," and the boy stopped short.
"I want to ask you about that hat you bought for Mr. Jadell. Did you
pay for it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where did you get the money?"
"Why--I--I--had some and Joe lent me some," stammered Harry and turned
red.
"How much did Joe lend you?"
"A dollar and a half."
"What did you pay for the hat?"
"Five dollars."
"Did you have the other three dollars and a half saved up?"
"No, sir, but--but--oh, father, I wish you wouldn't ask me about it!"
cried Harry, in confusion.
"How much did you have saved up?" demanded Mr. Westmore, sharply.
"A dollar and a half."
"Then where did you get the other two dollars?"
"Why, I--oh, please don't ask me, father. I--I----"
"Harry, I want you to answer me." Mr. Westmore's tone was very stern.
"Did you touch the tin box on the back desk at the store?"
Harry stared at his father in perplexity for a moment. Then he dropped
the wood, one stick after another.
"Me touch that box?" he said, slowly. "_Me?_ No, sir, I didn't touch
the box! I--I--father!"
The last word was full of fear--fear that he was being suspected by his
own father of being a thief. But Mr. Westmore did not notice.
"Then where did you get that two dollars? Answer me."
"I--I got it--and I never touched your old box!" came in a jerk from
Harry. "You--you're mean to suspect me, mean!" And he ran back to the
wood-pile and then to the barn. Here he came to a halt, his breath
coming hard and fast. His cheeks were burning and his mind was in a
whirl.
"To think I took his money!" he muttered. "That _I_ took it! Oh, what
a shame! I'll never, never----" He could not finish. "What will mother
say?" And then the tears came into his eyes.
Mr. Westmore was a stern man, but he loved his sons and in the past
he had trusted them implicitly. He started to enter the house, then
reconsidered the matter and followed Harry to the barn. Here it was so
dark he could scarcely see.
"Harry!"
No answer came back, and he repeated the call several times.
"Go away and leave me," came from the corner where the feed box was
located. "I--I don't want you to--to speak to me!"
"Harry, let us talk this over." Mr. Westmore's voice was unusually
kind. He walked over to the feed box. "You are doing wrong to fly into
such a passion over this, my son."
"You think I--I took that box?"
"No, I don't think so. You said you didn't touch it, and I have always
believed you."
"But you think I got the two dollars from the box."
"No, Harry. But don't you think I have a right to know where you do
get your money? If you came by it honestly--and I don't think anything
differently--you ought not to be ashamed to tell me where you did get
it. I only ask because I feel it is my duty to know what you are doing."
To this Harry did not answer.
"Of course, if you wish to keep the matter a secret, you can do so.
But, it seems to me, that you are not treating me exactly as you
should," went on Mr. Westmore. "I am doing my best by you, giving you
a good home and a good education, and allowing you to have plenty of
sport, and--"
"Well, father, I'll tell you the whole thing," interrupted Harry.
"But--but I wish you wouldn't tell the others. They may laugh at me."
His anger was fast dying out. "I went and put my camera in pawn, over
to Camdale. The pawnbroker, Mr. Levy, lent me three dollars on it. I've
got the pawn ticket in my pocket."
At this declaration Mr. Westmore smiled broadly, although Harry could
not see him, owing to the darkness. There was something comical to him
in Harry putting up his precious camera in order to raise money with
which to buy the school principal a new silk hat. Had it not been for
hurting his son's feelings he would have laughed outright.
"I see," he answered. "Why didn't you come to me for the amount?"
"Why, I--I didn't think you'd care to give it to me."
"I don't like a member of our family to patronize a pawnbroker.
To-morrow I'll give you three dollars and you can go and get the camera
back."
"Oh, thank you, father! And you won't say anything to the others about
it?"
"Not a word, Harry."
"You're a good old dad!" cried the boy, and clasped his hand
gratefully. "I--I guess I was a chump not to tell you the whole truth
from the start," he added.
"It would have saved this misunderstanding, Harry. But come, supper
must be waiting."
"I'll get the wood in in a jiffy," said Harry, and ran to the wood-pile
once more. Soon he had all he could carry, and his father came after
him with several heavy sticks.
"I can't make out who took that box," said Mr. Westmore later on to his
wife and family. "Harry didn't see anybody in the alleyway and neither
did I or Johnson." Johnson was an old man who worked at the store.
"You can be thankful you didn't lose more," said Mrs. Westmore. "Was
the society pin worth much?"
"About three dollars. I think I'll have the blacksmith put up some iron
bars over that window. Otherwise a thief could get in there some time
and rob the store," went on Mr. Westmore.
Joe was glad to see that his father did not suspect Harry. He wondered
where his brother had procured the rest of the money, but came to the
conclusion that Harry had borrowed it from some of his school chums.
Laura Westmore, who was a little younger than the boys, had been
invited to take a sail on the lake by a gentleman who owned a
fair-sized yacht. She now came back from the trip, which had lasted for
three hours.
"We had a delightful time!" she ejaculated, "and I'm as hungry as a
bear. There were eight of us, and we sailed up the lake for several
miles, and Mr. Felding let me handle the tiller part of the time. And
what do you think? We passed a small sloop, the _Vixen_, from Rudd's
Landing, and who do you think was on board? That big, overgrown bully,
Dan Marcy."
"Dan Marcy!" cried Joe and Harry, simultaneously.
"So that good-for-nothing young fellow has come back to these parts,"
put in Mr. Westmore. "I was in hopes that Lakeport had seen the last of
him."
"I heard that he was back several days ago," said Mrs. Westmore. "Mrs.
Darrow mentioned it. Said he looked pretty well run down and seedy."
"He was just horrid," went on Laura. "When his boat came up to us he
called out, 'How do you do, ladies?' just as if he was a close friend."
"I hope you didn't answer him," said Joe.
"Indeed I didn't, and neither did the other girls. Mr. Felding told him
to keep off or he'd run into us. Marcy didn't like that, and when he
sailed away he yelled after us, 'Think you're all some pumpkins, don't
you? Well, I reckon I'm as good as any of you!'"
"His impudence always was monumental," was Harry's comment. "If he
comes back to Lakeport he has got to learn to keep his distance."
"If I were you, boys, I should have nothing to do with him," came from
Mr. Westmore. "He is a bad egg, and if you give him half a chance he
will be sure to make trouble for you. Better not notice him."
"Well, he has got to let Laura alone," said Joe.
"If he bothers Laura I'll attend to him myself," answered Mr. Westmore.