“There’s your old money,” she cried, throwing it on the desk. “Oh, Kiddy, what a shame!” She ran to Harry and encircled him with protecting arms. Then she turned fiercely upon the detective. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Torturing this poor boy, before you stop to find out things. Look at him, the poor lamb. His heart’s broken. Why don’t you take somebody your own size? He did give the money to Mr. Barton, just as he said he did. The old trouble-hunter laid it in my exchange book and I just now found it. Maybe I didn’t hot-foot it up here!”
“See here, miss, this boy was brought to me for stealing. How was I to know——”
“You didn’t know,” broke in the person who had accompanied Miss Welch. It was Mr. Rexford. “This boy is innocent. I’ll be responsible for him. You can settle this with Barton. Come, Harry.”
As one in a dream, Harry found himself leaving the hated room between his two protectors.
“Now, my boy,” said Mr. Rexford grimly, “we are going to settle matters once and for all. I’m going to take you to Mr. Keene, and he is going to give you a transfer slip. I need a boy like you in my department, and if you are not working for me within the next ten minutes, then my name isn’t Henry Rexford.”
Harry Harding’s “better day” had dawned.