“Freeman told me he had stolen two hundred dollars from you and that he could not pay it, and that if he did not you would make trouble for him. Is that so?”
“It might be.”
“No, I must know! He told me, but I cannot always trust him. Did he take it?”
“Just what would happen if I said he did?” Alberson asked.
“I know him rather well,” Henrietta said. “We both board at Miss Redding's. I have helped him before.”
“You mean you would pay what he stole, if he stole it?” Johnnie asked.
“Yes. That is what I mean.”
“He stole it,” said Alberson. “He took it out of the till. Two hundred and eight dollars. He confessed when I put it up to him hard. And I'll get it back or he'll go to Anamosa, that's absolute.”
“Then I 'll repay you,” Henrietta said quietly. “I thought perhaps he was lying to me. I'll pay you a little this month and the rest regularly when school begins again in the fall.”
The pleasant look that had come back to Johnnie's face at the mention of repayment fled again. In money matters he was notoriously close; his carefulness in the matter of pennies was a joke that he accepted good-naturedly, since it permitted him the more easily to protect himself. No one could borrow money from Johnnie Albersori, and no one asked him to lend, although “Lend me a couple of cart-wheels” was the phrase most often spoken by the young fellows who made the Alberson store a loafing place.