“Love-letters, you young rascal!” cried Harry; “what business have you putting your love-letters in a respectable young woman’s boots? And, besides, this isn’t a love-letter, it’s asking the girl to elope, and it’s full of wickedness about jewels, and a band of daring fellows. What do you mean by it, sir?”
Master Dick looked at Harry a minute. Then he struck an attitude.
“What I do after I’ve left your service, sir, is my own business, isn’t it?”
“No, it isn’t,” said Harry; “it’s mine, because you’re placed with me by your grandmother, and it’s my duty to see that you don’t do anything to disgrace yourself if I can help it. Whose horses are you going to have ready, pray? And where are you going to get the silks and satins and jewels from? A nice idea, indeed! I’ve a good mind to send for a policeman.”
The boy turned very red at that, and his manner made Harry think he was frightened that something might be found out.
So, instead of dismissing the boy there and then, he gave him a good talking to, and said he should decide what was to be done with him afterwards.
Then Harry came to me, and said, “Mary Jane, there’s something wrong with that boy. I’m afraid he’s been up to no good.”
“Of course he hasn’t,” I said. “He certainly wasn’t up to any good when he wrote that wicked letter to Lucy.”
“It isn’t that only I’m thinking of. I’m afraid, putting two and two together, that he’s been making ready to run away, and that perhaps he’s got what doesn’t belong to him.”
“You don’t mean you think he’s been stealing?”