“Oh!” she said aloud. “That’s the bill Mr. Howbridge gave me when he went away, saying I might need something extra.”
She picked it up. It was folded exactly like the other one; but it never entered Ruth’s mind that she might have handed Mr. Crouch the wrong bill to examine.
Ruth replaced the banknotes in her purse and walked home with a face still troubled. She could take nobody into her confidence—least of all Agnes—regarding the missing album. It might be, of course, that Neale O’Neil had only hidden away the old book until his return. Possibly it was perfectly safe, and Neale O’Neil might have no more idea that the money was good than had Agnes.
But oh! if Mr. Howbridge were only at home! That was the burden of Ruth’s troubled thought.
She went into the house, her return not being remarked by the younger children. Upstairs Agnes was at her dresser putting the finishing touches to her hair and her frock in readiness for dinner.
“What’s that?” she asked Ruth, as the latter put down her purse and likewise the torn envelope Mr. Con Murphy had given her.
“Oh!” ejaculated Ruth. “I must have brought it away with me.”
“Brought what away with you—and from where?” demanded Agnes, picking up the paper. Then in a moment she cried: “Why! it’s addressed to Neale—by his circus name, ‘Neale Sorber.’ Where’d you get it, Ruth?”
“I saw Mr. Murphy,” the older sister confessed. “He thinks that the letter that came in this envelope was the cause of Neale’s going away so suddenly.”
“Goodness! it’s some trouble about his uncle,” said Agnes. “How Neale hates to be called ‘Sorber,’ too!”