"Richard, don't speak of such a thing again, even in fun. Like our little cottage home I am not in the market. Now let us talk again of things more pleasant than Mr. Cheatham, or the missing securities. When we put that new wing on, you shall have a den of your own; and I expect to enjoy the comfort of an up-to-date bathroom, something I have always wanted. But not a penny shall we spend until that delightful little inheritance is safely in our hands. What a Paradise we can make of our dear home in time, eh, Dick?"
And so they talked on as the time flew, picturing happy scenes, and more of comfort than they had ever known; really it seemed to Dick that the shadow he had felt hovering over his devoted head did not appear so formidable after all, with a mother's love to take away its bitter sting.
CHAPTER XX
A RED LETTER DAY
The following morning was very damp and depressing.
Lowering skies and a drizzling rain made a combination that must have its effect upon even the cheeriest nature; and while Dick laughed as usual up to the time he left home for town, it was not long before his spirits began to sink to a lower ebb.
The situation that confronted him was far from reassuring.
Even though there were germs of truth in the suggestion that Mr. Winslow had seized upon with such alacrity, how could they ever hope to prove it, since there seemed to be no way in which either of them could enter the home of Archibald Graylock, and make a search for the missing securities.
He had to pass the big department store on his way to the bank; or rather, having a little time to spare he went out of his way a few paces in order to ascertain what the crowd that he saw standing around meant.