"Why, I know it's his own," answered Bob, resenting the tone in which he had been addressed, and determined to defend Tom, as he supposed. "I suppose he told you it was his own—what he won on Tittlebrat the other day, I expect."
"You expect," repeated Mr. Flowers. "What do you know about it?"
"Why, I know he won a lot of money on Tittlebrat," avowed Bob. "Didn't he tell you so himself?"
"Never mind what he told me. What did you win on this race?"
Bob shook his head, and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. "No more racing for me," he said. "I've given my mother my word, and I don't mean to break it for nobody. For I just chucked away her new shawl over this, and if that ain't enough to choke a fellow off, I don't know what is."
Mr. Flowers could not help smiling at the boy's rueful face as he said this. He admired him, too, for the determination with which he spoke, and he said, "Did you tell your mother what had happened, my boy?"
"Ah, that I did. I just had it all out, though I thought it would break her heart to hear that all the money I had saved to buy her winter shawl had been thrown away on these races."
"Then it was your own money you risked?" said Tom's uncle.
Bob stared at the question. "To be sure it was. Did you think I stole it?" he said rather resentfully.
"No, I don't think you would, my boy, but some other lad has been doing this, and I must find out how far Tom has mixed himself up with him in the matter."