"No, sir, but—but—oh, father, I wish you wouldn't ask me about it!" cried Harry, in confusion.
"How much did you have saved up?" demanded Mr. Westmore, sharply.
"A dollar and a half."
"Then where did you get the other two dollars?"
"Why, I—oh, please don't ask me, father. I—I——"
"Harry, I want you to answer me." Mr. Westmore's tone was very stern. "Did you touch the tin box on the back desk at the store?"
Harry stared at his father in perplexity for a moment. Then he dropped the wood, one stick after another.
"Me touch that box?" he said, slowly. "Me? No, sir, I didn't touch the box! I—I—father!"
The last word was full of fear—fear that he was being suspected by his own father of being a thief. But Mr. Westmore did not notice.
"Then where did you get that two dollars? Answer me."