“I’m not so sure about that!” cried Jerry, pacing up and down the room. “I think Professor Snodgrass cheated us in not telling me the clay was valuable.”
“Maybe he did not know it,” suggested Mrs. Hopkins. “I am sure the professor would never do anything dishonorable.”
“Look at that!” demanded Jerry, pointing to the letter of the scientist—a letter appearing over his own signature—in which the claims for the clay were substantiated.
Mrs. Hopkins could not answer. Certainly it looked as though the scientific friend of the boys had acted against their interests—or, at least, against the interests of the Hopkins family.
“And just think, Mother!” cried Jerry, “if we owned that land now we could sell the clay ourselves, and get back some of the fortune you have lost.”
“It sure is tough luck,” remarked Ned.
“And that’s where the professor has been all this while—working in with those fellows,” declared Bob. “He’s been helping them get this clay ready for the market, and we thought he was after the two-tailed lizards all the while. I wouldn’t have believed it of him!”
“Why do so?” asked Mrs. Hopkins gently. “Everyone is presumed to be innocent until proven guilty. Why not give the professor a ‘show for his white alley,’ as I often hear you boys say? Why condemn him unheard? That isn’t fair!”
Jerry blushed.
“Well, maybe it isn’t, Mother,” he admitted, “but the facts are all against him. Didn’t I give him a chance to tell us the clay was valuable before we sold the land?”