"He gave it to me before—by the roadside."
"Gave it to you! Where in the name of goodness has it been since?"
"In the little cupboard in my room, behind the books."
"Great snakes!" muttered Perry Larson, reaching out his hand and gingerly picking up one of the gold-pieces.
David eyed him anxiously.
"Won't they—do?" he faltered. "There aren't a thousand; there's only a hundred and six; but—"
"Do!" cut in the man, excitedly. He had been examining the gold-piece at close range. "Do! Well, I reckon they'll do. By Jiminy!—and ter think you've had this up yer sleeve all this time! Well, I'll believe anythin' of yer now—anythin'! You can't stump me with nuthin'! Come on." And he hurriedly led the way toward the house.
"But they weren't up my sleeve," corrected David, as he tried to keep up with the long strides of the man. "I SAID they were in the cupboard in my room."
There was no answer. Larson had reached the porch steps, and had paused there hesitatingly. From the kitchen still came the sound of sobs. Aside from that there was silence. The boy, however, did not hesitate. He went straight up the steps and through the open kitchen door. At the table sat the man and the woman, their eyes covered with their hands.
With a swift overturning of his cap, David dumped his burden onto the table, and stepped back respectfully.