“It don’t sound reasonable,” and the man’s husky voice was plainer now.
“I tell you I saw it. I had the book in my hand.”
“Why didn’t you bring it away and let me see it?” demanded the other.
“I’d ha’ done it, Pop, if I’d been let. He had it in his bag in his room. I got in and had the book in my hand. It’s heavy and big, I tell you! He came in and caught me messin’ with his things, and I thought he’d lam me! You know, Neale always was high tempered,” added the strange young voice.
Agnes was powerless to move. Mention of money in a book was sufficient to hold her in her tracks. But now they were speaking of Neale O’Neil!
“Where’d he ever get so much money?” demanded the husky voice.
“Stole it, mebbe.”
“None of the Sorbers was ever light-fingered—you’ve got to say that much for them.”
“What’s that boy doing with all that money, and we so poor?” snarled the young voice, “Wasn’t you hurt when that gasoline tank exploded in the big top, just the same as Bill Sorber? And nobody made any fuss over you.”
“Well, well, well,” muttered the man.