“This is about Jack. I told you how I sympathized with that boy’s sad story, and went with him to investigate it, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but you never told me whether his home was—”
“I didn’t get there. He led me through the most awful slums, telling me all the time how his father would beat him, when he failed to bring money home, and how he knew I was the beautiful lady he had dreamed of, as soon as he saw me.”
“Well? Go on, dear.”
“Oh, nothing; only the horrid little wretch suddenly dived down an alley and disappeared; and, oh, Emily, I—I believe he made a face at me as he went! Worse yet, when I felt for my pocketbook it was gone, and I had to walk all the way home!”
“Oh, my goodness, had he taken it?”
“I surely had not given it to him. I had almost forgotten the affair, when the cook came up yesterday to tell me that he was in the kitchen, and had brought my pocketbook back, with a long story about having seen another boy take it. Said he had followed him, when he left me, and taken it away from him, in turn.”
“Well, I declare; and there was all your money intact after you had doubted his honesty!”
“Not a cent of it, dear; and the cook said he was wearing a nice new suit. I told her she had better go back to the kitchen, and count the spoons, and I called loudly after her, ‘Tell him I never want to see his deceitful face again!’ The housemaid had come to the door of my room, too, and was trying to put in a word, but I wouldn’t listen to her.”
“Trying to excuse the little wretch; the idea!”