"What do you think of it?" he asked.
"I think the man that stole the wallet took the money out of the one side and thought that that was all there was in it. Then he threw the wallet away to get rid of it."
After that the boys walked back to the postoffice, where Barry bought a postal order for ten dollars. He destroyed the letter which he had written to his mother originally, and began the composition of a second one. It was a slow and painful task.
"I don't know just what to say," he said. "I've told mother that I got sixty-eight dollars for my month's pay and I've explained how I used part of it in paying Mr. Carlton and another part in settling what I owe Mrs. Johnson. I'm sending her the other ten dollars, but she'll wonder what I've done with the rest. I haven't got the nerve to tell her that I've lost it. What would you do?"
"Don't know," said Joe, aimlessly.
"Maybe it would worry her," said Barry. "I'll just—"
"I say, Barry," interrupted Joe, with his queer expression; "do you know the best way?"
"No."
"Just tell her the truth—tell her exactly what happened."
And Barry did.