'As Gold in the Furnace' Part 20

"Not much," said Smithers, "that's not likely to be found. I guess that's gone for good."

"What then?"

"A piece of writing!"

"Whose?"

"Henning's."

"Of what nature? What has it to do with the suspicion in the yard?"

"It has a good deal to do with it."

"Well, out with it, if you have anything to tell. I'm tired of this dallying. What's up?"

Garrett, still out of temper, was quite testy. It can be seen that he had very little respect for these boys. He made no pretense of choosing his words with them.

Smithers, nothing daunted by the surly manner in which he had been addressed, after more or less fumbling, drew from the inside pocket of his coat a crumpled sheet of letter-paper. It bore the college printed address on the top, and was dated December 23.

"Whose writing is that, do you think?" asked Smithers.

"I don't know. Let me look at it. Yes, I do though! It's my cousin's!

What does he say?"

He straightened out the creases and read the letter hurriedly.

"Phew! by all that's great, this is a stunner!" said Garrett.

The other two boys exchanged glances of satisfaction. Smithers'

eyelids twitched more than ever.

"Where did you get this from?"

"No matter where it came from," answered Stockley; "it's just what we want to settle this business. It has been hanging fire long enough. It ought to be settled for everybody's sake. I think this will do it."

Garrett did not like his cousin, and hitherto had not been above doing him a bad turn occasionally. He was recognized, more or less, as the mouthpiece of those opposed to Roy. To do Andrew justice it must be admitted that he never quite realized what injury he was doing his cousin. A full realization of the injustice of his course was not to come to him for a long time, but now, since this interview, he was very uneasy. If Henning was determined to act on the offensive, he must prepare to defend himself. Here was a piece of paper, luckily thrown in his way, with which he could divert suspicion from himself should his cousin be goaded into retaliating. He knew enough of Roy's character to realize that he would have his hands full, if that individual decided to take the initiative in the tangle.

But what of the "find" of Smithers? What important piece of information did it contain which was evidently so detrimental to Henning as to draw the sudden exclamation of surprise from Garrett's lips? It was not a complete letter, but merely a first draft. It ran as follows: "My dear friend."

The word "friend" had been marked through and "chum" inserted instead.

"Your letter rec'd last Monday. Sorry to say that ... have no money now ... so can't possibly do the thing you wish ... awfully sorry ...

feel like stealing the money rather than letting this thing go undone.

However, wait till the end of Christmas week. It won't be too late then. Something's going to happen before that! Then we can go into partnership--at least for the merit of the thing. Keep everything dark. Don't say a single word to anybody about it. Mind now, chum, everything must be kept a secret, or--smash. Yours, Roy H."

The missive, or first copy of one, looked mysterious enough. To these boys into whose possession it had by some means fallen, it had a decidedly dark-lantern appearance. To their minds, in view of what had happened near the end of the Christmas week, the words seemed to have a peculiarly sinister meaning in proportion to each one's prejudice.

Was the sketch of the proposed letter genuine? There was no doubt as to that in Garrett's mind. Everybody knew Henning's writing. Without hesitation Garrett p.r.o.nounced it genuine.

But what could the letter mean? Had his cousin deliberately planned the robbery? Smithers believed, or said he believed, this to be the case. Garrett knew better. In spite of this letter he knew that was too absurd a notion to entertain. He was, nevertheless, shrewd enough to see the value of this crumpled note as a weapon of defense for himself.

He deliberately put it into his pocket.

"Hold on there, Garrett!" exclaimed Smithers, "that note belongs to me."

"Excuse me," replied Andrew, "but I believe it belongs strictly to Roy Henning."

"No, it doesn't. It's my property. I risked--I mean I discovered it, and it's mine."

"I beg your pardon, but for the present you may consider it my property. There may be further risk, you know, for you. It will be quite safe, I a.s.sure you, in my keeping."

"Well, I'll be hanged!" exclaimed the dismayed Smithers.

"Shouldn't wonder in the least--some day," replied Garret imperturbably.

"But it's mine!"

"Beg to differ with you. It never was yours. It is mine now, at least for a time. I haven't decided yet what to do with it--whether to tear it up, or restore it to its rightful owner."

He intended to do neither one nor the other. He had formed his plan, but he had not the slightest intention of taking either Stockley or Smithers into his confidence. The latter was very angry at the loss of the letter, but he knew very well that he could not get it back until Garrett pleased to return it. His ill-humor was not lessened when Garrett said as he walked away:

"By the way, I should recommend you to say nothing about this so-called 'find' of yours, you fellows, for I am strongly under the impression that it is bogus, and besides, it might be difficult to convince people you came by it honestly."

Smithers' eyelids exhibited that nervous twitching more rapidly than ever.

CHAPTER XVIII

A TALK

Shealey and Beecham captured Roy Henning and took him for a long stroll through the woods that Sunday afternoon. He, in the keen enjoyment of witnessing nature once again awake from its long winter slumber, for a time forgot his annoyances, and was the merriest of the three. The time pa.s.sed as only a bright holiday can pa.s.s with the light-hearted.

Now there was a hunt for the nimble squirrel, which always got safely away. Anon there was a plunge into the thickest coppice for spring flowers. From these dense undergrowths the three more than once emerged minus the treasures they sought, and plus a number of scratches on hands and face, and with not a little damage to Sunday suits. In the sunny spots they found the first delicate fern fronds.

In one particularly romantic spot they found a number of beautiful fungi. Jack Beecham dexterously made a little birch-bark box, which he filled with soft green moss, carefully placing his treasures therein.

In their journey they were lucky enough to come across some morels, and one or two of those vegetable curiosities, the earth-star. With these boys a ramble into the country was much more than so many steps taken to a certain spot, and so many back again. Their studies had sharpened their powers of outdoor observation, so that a walk was an intellectual exercise as well as a physical one.

Many times during that afternoon Roy recalled the interview with his cousin a few minutes before starting, but with a certain determination he put the matter from his mind for the present, intent on giving himself entirely to the enjoyment of the beauties of nature on an ideal spring day, and to the pleasant companionship of two very delightful fellow-students. For a time he forgot all about Garrett.

When the journey was near its end; when the tired and healthy, hungry three were once more nearing the college grounds, the thoughts of what he had said and done with regard to his cousin, and that same cousin's noncommittal responses, once more filled Roy's mind and made him thoughtful and reserved again.

"There you are!" scolded Jack Beecham; "I do declare, Roy, you ought to live in the woods altogether. As soon as you come near home you at once put on a long face, turn down the corners of your mouth, and look as sour as--as vinegar and water."

"Yes," added Tom Shealey, "I'm going to call you in future Old Glum--that's the only name that suits you now. What on earth is the use of being so sober and somber about things?"

"Just at present," answered Roy, "I do not think I have anything to make me unusually cheerful; nothing certainly that would make me dance and sing with joy."