“I’ll be glad when he’s gone,” said Jess. “He brought me bad luck—made me lose my glove.”
“There’s no such thing as good luck or bad luck,” declared Fred. “You lost your glove because you didn’t take care of it. Don’t blame that on poor old Riddle Chap.”
“Don’t you call it bad luck that you lost the bank?” asked Jess, heedless of Polly’s warning frown.
“No, of course that wasn’t bad luck,” said Fred, stoutly. “That was my own fault. I put it down somewhere, but I’ll never tell you where. And Dad wanted me to open a savings-bank account with it, too. I ought to have taken his advice.”
“You haven’t lost the new bank,” said Artie, who meant to be comforting.
“No, I haven’t,” agreed Fred. “And that isn’t good luck, either. It’s good care. I look at the bank first thing every night and morning, to make sure it is in the right place.”
“Perhaps some one took the other bank,” suggested Margy.
Fred glanced at her sharply. She was watching the board and apparently had just said that without thinking.
“I don’t see how any one could have taken it,” said Fred, and then it was his turn to play.
He still thought, now and then, that Carrie Pepper knew more about the bank than she cared to tell. But Fred had made up his mind not to say anything until he had more than suspicions to back him, and he resolutely refused to put his thought into words.