Poole stood in the middle of the room, his lips still parted, his eyes staring. His expression, as Owen saw it, and as it would have appeared if reproduced by instantaneous photography, was almost idiotic, so stunned was he by the incredible news. In a moment, however, intelligence returned.
"Do you mean to say that Carle has sneaked off home for good, and sold his things to you?" he demanded fiercely, taking a threatening step forward upon poor Jenks, as if the dealer were to be held responsible for Carle's disappearance.
Mr. Jenks edged away. "I dunno about sneakin'," he replied resentfully; "I said he'd gone home for good and sold his things to me. I s'pose he's got a right to go if he wants to."
"Did he tell you he wasn't coming back?"
"Yes, he did, three days ago, right in this very room. He didn't want me to come for the stuff till to-day, because he said the boys would bother him with questions. I'm going to send him the money as soon as I get the things down to the store."
Poole stood silent, but his eyes, angrily snapping, remained fixed upon the furniture dealer, and his lips, tightly shut, twitched at the corners. Mr. Jenks looked puzzled; suddenly a ray of intelligence flashed over his face. "None of the furniture was yours, was it?" he asked eagerly, thinking to have found the reason for Poole's emotion. "He said it was all his except what belonged to his room-mate."
"None of it's mine," returned Poole, turning abruptly on his heel. "Come on, Owen!"
He went plunging down the stairs, with Owen following closely. At the outside door he turned on his companion.
"What do you think of that?" he demanded hotly. "That's a fine trick to play us, isn't it!"
"If his father sent for him I suppose he had to go," remarked Owen, thinking for the moment rather of Mr. Carle's plight than of that of the school.