"That means," was the impressive reply, "that means, 'The thunderbolt has fallen.'"
Mountjoy made no effort to hide his curiosity and wonder.
"Tell me about it," said he, settling himself more comfortably.
For a time Mr. Follett smoked in silence; then, ignoring his pipe further, he confronted his caller with the suddenness of one who sees his way clear before him, and began:
"There's a machinist, Hunter by name, who works nights at the compress. Him an' his wife an' a half-dozen or so o' children live in one o' them little cottages near by, just off Ash Lane. Well, last night Hunter an' a dago friend o' his 'n stopped one o' the night men on this beat, sayin' they had a matter that was a-puzzlin' them mightily, an' they wanted to have a talk about it—not that the dago could make himself understood to any great extent, but Hunter had him along to kind o' back 'im up. Hunter said what he had to say, an' the policeman, knowin' that John lived near by, brought the two o' them here. O' course he didn't know about John bein' away; but enough was said for me to ask a question or two, an' I finally got the hull story.
"Hunter has a boy nine years old, who sells papers mornin's an' evenin's, an' when he sells out he never has more 'n thirty or forty cents, or thereabouts, to show for it. Every night the boy brings this money home an' turns it over to his mother. A good lad, you see.
"Well, two or three days ago the mother found a silver dollar tucked away under a little vase that stands on a shelf in one o' their rooms. She knew that none o' the family had lost a dollar; she knew she hadn't put it there herself—they're not so plentiful in the Hunter home—so it worried her a hull lot. She took all the children to task, one by one, an' to make a long story short, she finally got it out o' the nine-year-old that he'd put the dollar under the vase. He was so back'ard in ownin' up an' in talkin' about it, that she just natcher'lly kep' at him until she drew out a bit at a time the boy's story o' the dollar."
The speaker paused and seemed to be much interested in the nodding head of his auditor. Mountjoy sat with the tips of his fingers pressed lightly together and his thin lips tightly closed.
"I follow you," he now said; "pray continue."
"Not very excitin' so far, but necessary," said Mr. Follett. "Now, hear the rest. This here's the way the boy's yarn went.