“I fancy he knows it already,” said LeGrand Blossom. “There isn't much that escapes that fisherman.”
CHAPTER XIII. CAPTAIN POLAND CONFESSES
When LeGrand Blossom had taken his departure, carrying with him the books and papers, he left behind two very disconsolate persons.
“It's terrible!” exclaimed Mr. Carwell's sister. “To think that poor Horace could be so careless! I knew his sporting life would bring trouble, but I never dreamed of this.”
“We must face it, terrible as it is,” said Viola. “Nothing would matter if he—if he were only left to us. I'm sure he never meant to spend so much money. It was just because—he didn't think.”
“That always was a fault of his,” sighed Miss Mary, “even when a boy. It's terrible!”
“It's terrible to have him gone and to think of the terrible way he was taken,” sighed Viola. “But any one is likely to lose money.”
She no more approved of many of her late father's sporting proclivities than did her aunt, and there were many rather startling stories and rumors that came to Viola as mere whispers to which she turned a deaf ear. Since her mother's death her father had, it was common knowledge, associated with a fast set, and he had been seen in company with persons of both sexes who were rather notorious for their excesses.
“Well, Mr. Blossom will do the best he can, I suppose,” said Miss Carwell, with rather an intimation that the head clerk's best would be very bad indeed.