But Neale gave her no reply. He was still glaring at Ruth whose expression of her doubt of his honesty had rasped the boy’s temper till he fairly raged.
“If you want to find out anything about that stuff in the old book, you can do it yourself. I won’t tell you. I’m through with the whole business,” declared Neale.
“But—but where’s the book?” asked Ruth, in rather a weak voice now.
“Oh, I brought it back,” snapped Neale. “You’ll find it outside on the porch—in my bag. That’s all I carried in the old thing, anyway. You can have it.”
He marched to the door and jerked it open. Agnes tried to call after him, but could not.
Neale banged to the door behind him and tramped down the hall. They heard him open the outer door and slam that. Then he thumped down the steps and made for the Willow Street gate.
“Oh, Ruth! what have you done?” gasped Agnes, wringing her hands. “Poor Neale!”
“I want that album!” exclaimed Ruth, jumping up.
“It—it can’t be worth anything—that money,” murmured Agnes, but followed her sister.
“It is good money. I’m sure of it!” snapped Ruth.