“You did not. I say you did not.” The aisle manager’s voice soared to a hoarse bellow of rage.
“What’s this? What’s this?” demanded a stern voice. Mr. Seymour, the floor superintendent, had come up in time to hear Mr. Barton’s words.
“I gave this boy a twenty-dollar note to take over to Miss Exley to change. Now he says he gave it to me. I tell you, he didn’t. He has lost it or else he has stolen it.”
“Stolen it! Oh, Mr. Barton!” rang out Harry’s agonized cry.
“What have you done with that money, young man?” thundered Mr. Seymour.
“I gave it to Mr. Barton, sir. I came straight from Miss Exley’s desk and gave it to him.”
“He didn’t. I haven’t seen it.” Mr. Barton glared vindictively at Harry. “Search that boy. He’s taken it.”
“Come with me.” Mr. Seymour grasped the stunned, unresisting boy by the arm and steered him to the nearest elevator.
“Oh, Mr. Seymour, I didn’t take it. Please believe me. I didn’t.”