"Then this is the excuse," says Park, severely, "for his resorting to pawnbrokers—with stolen property."
And Shorty bursts out indignantly, "He never stole a thing, or sold it either!" And now his eyes look pleadingly to the Doctor as though to say, "You know this can't be so! Why do you let him lie?"
And as though to answer the appeal and come to the rescue of a maligned and beloved pupil, Pop turns instantly, every sign of merriment gone.
"Surely you are misinformed, Park," he says. "There was nothing but some last year's books and his father's old shotgun. He told us everything."
"He didn't tell you everything," answers Park, with emphasis. "How much of this is due to evil associations you can judge better than I; but look here," and from a bulging pocket of his overcoat he produces a package wrapped in a red silk handkerchief. A minute later and he lays upon the desk Seymour's handsome gold pencil-case, an old-fashioned watch and chain, such as women wore twenty years earlier, and some cameo earrings, with breastpin to match. "These," says he, solemnly, "were recovered this morning. They represent only a small portion of what his aunt, his benefactress, has found to be missing from her box of disused trinkets and heirlooms. The boy was shrewd enough to confine his stealings to things that wouldn't have been missed for weeks or months, perhaps, had not a faithful domestic's suspicions been aroused. This will be a sore blow to his poor mother. It has almost prostrated his aunt, and I dare say we don't begin to know the worst. Has nothing been missed by his classmates here at school?"
There are beads of sweat on the Doctor's pale forehead as he turns away, Joy's watch instantly occurring to him. As for Shorty, in distress and consternation, mingled with vehement unbelief, for once in his life he is dumb.
