“Well, surely that couldn’t be Barnabetta,” admitted Agnes; “for she got here first.”
“That is true,” Ruth agreed. “No. Somebody followed that foolish boy—perhaps away from Tiverton. And to think of his throwing down a satchel of money on the porch in that careless way!”
“Oh, but Ruthie! that proves Neale doesn’t believe it is good money,” Agnes said eagerly. “Else he wouldn’t have left it out there. Of course he has found out that it is all counterfeit.”
“You never can tell what a foolish boy will do,” retorted Ruth, tossing her head.
“Shall—shall we tell the police we’ve been robbed?” hesitated Agnes.
“Why should we tell them, I’d like to know?” demanded Ruth, shortly. “What should we tell them? That we’ve lost a hundred thousand dollars that doesn’t belong to us?”
“Oh, mercy!”
“I’d be afraid to,” confessed the troubled Ruth. “You don’t know what they might do to us for losing it.”
“Oh, dear, Ruthie! that sounds awful,” murmured Agnes.
The two girls were in much vexation of spirit, and quite uncertain what to do. The emergency called for wisdom beyond that which they possessed. Nor did they know anybody at hand with whom they might confer regarding the catastrophe.