He had picked up Dr. Scott’s check-book and was coolly looking it over, which, being in an excited condition, Don did not observe for some time. When he did become aware what Leon was doing, after storming about a while, he exclaimed:
“Put that down! What are you handling that for?”
“Oh, I just happened to pick it up by accident,” said the visitor, tossing it back on the desk.
“Don’t be so free with your hands!” advised the doctor’s son.
“Don’t get so excited,” calmly retorted Leon, fishing into the waste-paper basket and pulling out a sheet of paper on which there was some writing. “Say, your old man’s scrawl is rather queer, ain’t it? But I guess I hit his style all right in that note I faked up for you to carry to old Alden, didn’t I?”
“That was all right,” admitted Don, shortly, not fancying the reference to that matter; “but you won’t have to write any more for me.”
“You never can tell, my boy,” chirped Bentley. “Say, these are odd pens your dad uses. I rather like them, and I think I’ll just take one to try it.” Whereupon he calmly slipped one of the pens into his vest pocket.
For some time the boys talked over the football game and Renwood’s treachery, as charged by Bentley. Finally, Don said:
“You’d better be getting out, Bent; father’s liable to come pretty soon.”
“Well, I don’t care about being seen by him,” grinned Leon. “I know he doesn’t love me a great deal for some reason or other.”