“I don’t like him, and never did,” answered Tom bluntly.
“Well, if he’s perfectly honest, then he’s a doughhead, and we certainly don’t want him in these offices any longer,” came from Sam. “Any fellow who will neglect his duties as Greene did deserves to be kicked out.”
“Well, I intend to kick him out, but I won’t do it just yet,” answered Jack’s father. “We may want his testimony, and the detectives may want to question him further.”
The senior Rovers had passed a hectic evening and an even more hectic night. None of them had been to bed, neither did any of them have the least desire to go to sleep. The nerves of each were at a high tension, and with good reason.
“If it was only our own stuff I wouldn’t say so much,” said Dick, with something like a groan. “But to have our best friends suffer too—well, it’s something I can hardly stand.”
“I don’t believe Songbird Powell or Fred Garrison will blame us,” returned Tom. “But what Mr. Stevenson will do is another matter. I’m afraid it may rough up matters between Jack and Ruth, Dick,” and he gazed at his older brother questioningly.
“Well, if Mr. Stevenson gets sore I suppose we’ll have to bear it,” answered Jack’s father. “It’s too bad, but I don’t see what can be done. We’re in a big hole, and that’s all there is to it.”
“No, it isn’t!” cried Sam, just as sturdy and defiant in his manner as he had ever been. “We’re in a hole, that’s true. But it’s our business to climb out of it, and we’re going to do it!”
“Let’s hope we do so,” returned Tom. “But it seems to me that hole is a good deal like a deep well and that we’re just about as well off as a trio of frogs at the bottom thereof,” and a flash of Tom’s old-time humor asserted itself.
“Well, this talk doesn’t seem to be getting us anywhere,” said Dick, rising to his feet. “We’d better check up on those securities of which we were not certain and find out what steps can be taken so that no one will negotiate them.”