“I don’t, Hal, if you say you’re not,” declared the faithful Walter.
“Pickles, you’re the best fellow on earth,” said Kenyon warmly, stepping close and putting both hands on his friend’s shoulders. “You almost make me feel like sticking. But I can’t.”
“Why not, Hal?”
“Everybody—excepting you—thinks I’m a thief, and I can’t prove I’m not. So I’m just going to cut loose. Some day I’ll come back and prove I’m innocent.”
“I’m sorry I picked up the nugget, Hal. I wish I hadn’t told what it was. But I was so surprised I couldn’t help it.”
“That’s all right, Pick. It wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you a bit.”
“When you goin’, Hal?”
“To-night—just as soon as everybody’s asleep.”
“Where you going—home?”
“I don’t know. Maybe; maybe not. Anyway, I’ll write home and tell mother and father I didn’t steal.”