“What do you mean?” she asked, frightened, turning to look into his face.
“I'm in bad, I say,” he answered. “I've been tapping Alberson's till and he knows it. You think you've been keeping me going? What could I do with the scraps of money you've been giving me? Chicken feed!”
Henrietta was very white.
“You've been stealing?” she whispered.
“Yes, and got caught; that's the worst of it. And I've got to make it good, for Johnnie is going to put me through. Now you know it; what are you going to do about it?”
“Oh, Freeman!” she moaned. She dared not weep, for Gay, or any one, might be watching her. Mrs. Bruce, in one of the houses across the street, did come to her door and Henrietta waved a merry hand. “How much did you take?” Henrietta asked Freeman.
“Three hundred, I guess, but old Johnnie don't know it. He says it is two hundred. That's what I have to make good. 'Make good or go to the jug,' was what he said. And he'll do it. I 'm nobody, you see. I 'm none of the ancient and honorable Riverbank families. Nobody'll stop trading with Johnnie if I'm jugged. It will be 'whoof!' and I'm gone.”
“Oh, Freeman! How could you? And so little I can do. What can I do? Do you think, if I saw him—” questioned Henrietta.
“If you saw him? Yes, with a roll of cash in your fist,” laughed Freeman. “What would you do? Kiss him? The best thing you can do is hunt up two hundred ducats.”
“That's impossible, of course,” Henrietta said flatly. “How long will he wait?”