“That’s one of the things, Junior,” he said, “that I’m not quite easy about. It was a big sum to disappear and I was after the Spellmans and I didn’t hesitate to give it to them as hard as I could, but to tell you the plain truth, I haven’t an idea where that money went. I don’t know how it got out of the house, or whether it was out of the house. Are you sure you put that pocket book on the table when Edith told you to?”
“I certainly am,” said Junior. “I went into the room, laid it beside her coat, and stepped back. You’ll remember that Mahala testified that it was there when she finished Edith’s hat and laid it with the things she was going to wear.”
Mr. Moreland slowly nodded his head.
“I remember,” he said. “That piece of testimony of hers is about the only alleviation I’ve got when Elizabeth Spellman looks at me too hard, at three in the morning. Sometimes I’m tempted to send to Chicago for a real detective and put him on the case. I find that there are things that I can do with impunity, and then there are some that I can’t. I’d rather see Mahala Spellman freed from that ugly charge against her than anything that could happen on earth right now. It’s beginning to react against us, pretty strongly, my boy.”
“In the present circumstances,” said Junior, “so would I. But money is a material thing. The earth doesn’t open and swallow it up. It’s somewhere, and I cautioned you before I left to do the most thorough piece of searching of Mahala Spellman’s home that could possibly be done. I was sure you’d find the money there. I don’t see yet how it happens that you didn’t.”
Mr. Moreland drew another deep breath. He picked up a letter in one hand and a letter opener in the other. Junior suddenly realized that his face was drawn and haggard and that the eyes that were lifted to him had a hunted look.
“Well, it happens, no doubt, because it wasn’t there,” he said. “If it had been I’d have found it. I’ve worn myself out searching our house and when I haven’t been at the job, your mother has. This thing has hurt her a great deal worse than it has either one of us. I strongly suspect, that among the old hens of this town, she’s likely getting hers. Since people have had time to think things over, I get a hint once in a while that the thing I cautioned you would happen is slowly happening. As people have time to calm down and to study things, there’s a kind of sentiment growing that Mahala never could have taken that money. After all, she didn’t really need it. Jemima had furnished her shelter; she was honestly earning her daily bread, while that damned Rich dug up a forty-acre piece of land that doesn’t need anything but cultivation to make it as fine river bottom as you ever laid your eyes on. She knew about it before this thing happened. She wasn’t what you might call destitute or in extremes, and she had a kind of pride that made her meet the thing in a way that her mother couldn’t have done. I’ve got a notion in my head that Elizabeth Spellman would have been prouder of her girl if she’d laid down beside her and died with her, instead of putting on an apron and beginning to sew for a living.”
Junior arose and stood looking at his father.
“No doubt you’re right, Dad,” he said quietly. “You most generally are. But since you didn’t have anything to do with this, since you are in no way to blame for it, don’t you think you’d better stop worrying about it? Let it go for what it’s worth.”
“Well,” said Mr. Moreland, “my dear friends and my devoted neighbours are beginning to make me feel that I’m none too popular in this community. That little ape of a Spellman, feeling and flecking and scraping, could make himself a commanding and respected figure, and I thought I’d done it, but I’m none too sure that I have. I’m none too sure that it wouldn’t take only one more little slip on my part to have every dog in the county worrying at my throat. I understand that Albert Rich, Peter Potter, and Jason Peters, are pooling issues against us. They’re doing everything in their power to find some hook or crook by which they can clear Mahala, and if the thing happens, and happens to our discredit——” The Senior Moreland paused and drew fine lines down the side of a blotter with a sharp pencil.