“He didn’t say,” returned the old Irishman, shaking his head. “Neale can be as tight-mouthed as a clam—so he can.”
“But he did not go off without saying a word to you?” cried Ruth.
“No, not so. He says: ‘Con, I’ve gotter go. ’Tis me duty. I hate mesilf for going; but I’d hate meself worse if I didn’t go.’ Now! kin ye make head nor tail of that? For shure, I can’t,” finished the cobbler.
The two Corner House girls stared at each other. Neither of them could see into this mystery any deeper than did Mr. Con Murphy.
CHAPTER IX—RUTH IS SUSPICIOUS
The day following Christmas Ruth went out of her way while she was marketing to step into the bank in which Mr. Howbridge kept their account, and where she was known to both the cashier and teller.
“Good morning, Mr. Crouch,” she said to the latter gentleman. “Will you look at this bill?”
“Merry Christmas to you, Miss Ruth,” said the teller. “What is the matter with the bill?” and he took the one she tendered him.
“Perhaps you can tell me better than I can tell you,” Ruth returned, laughing; yet she looked a bit anxious, too, and her hand trembled.
“Has somebody been giving you a ‘phony’ ten dollar note?” asked the teller, taking up his glass and screwing it into his eye.