“Why, Neale, we’d like to know what you’ve done with it,” Ruth said, seriously. “Aggie had no right to let you take the book.”
“Why not?” snapped the boy again.
“Because it was not hers. It does not belong to us. It should not have gone out of my care. It—”
“Well! why didn’t you take care of it, then?” demanded the boy, sharply.
“I—I didn’t know what was in it. I couldn’t believe it!” declared Ruth, with clasped hands.
“For pity’s sake! what is the matter with you, Ruth Kenway?” cried Agnes, feeling that they were all at cross purposes. “If it was real money or counterfeit, either one, of course Neale was to be trusted with it, I should hope.”
“If!” ejaculated Ruth, desperately. “You don’t know what you say, Agnes. There’s no ‘if’ about it. It is real money.”
“No?” gasped the astounded Agnes, who had never really believed this was so. “How do you know that, Ruth Kenway? It is preposterous.”
“It is so,” repeated Ruth, more calmly. “I took one of the ten dollar bills and had it examined at the bank. Mr. Crouch says it is good money. I didn’t believe it myself till he said so. Then I came back to find the book and lock it away somewhere. And you had given it to Neale.”
“Oh, Neale!” gasped Agnes, sitting down suddenly.