“Ah!” said Mr. Sprague, taking the pocket-book and slipping it inside his vest. “So Leonard has got onto it in some way or another, has he?”
“Yes; and it was all Mr. Smith could do to get him out of the parlor when he wanted to talk to me. He says don’t you let Leonard catch you off your guard one instant, for if you do he will cheat you out of it.”
“Why, if the money is made over to you I don’t see what Leonard can have to do with it.”
“But he will find out where the money is hidden, and go there and dig it up.”
“Well, I reckon Mr. Leonard won’t get it now,” said Mr. Sprague, buttoning his vest.
“No, I don’t think he will. Now, hadn’t you better go down and see Mr. Smith? He thinks he isn’t going to last much longer.”
“I will go down and see him now. I hope he will get well, so that he can have this money back again.”
Mr. Sprague laid down his pen and got upon his feet, and just then there was a rumble of wagons in front of the house, which told them that some of the wounded had arrived. Leon went down to assist them and to look for Ballard, whom he wanted to introduce to the President, while his father went on to the parlor. Leon found that there were four wagon-loads of wounded rebels there, and while he was looking around watching for a chance to lend a hand his father came to the door and beckoned to him.
“He has gone,” said he, when Leon approached within speaking distance.
“Is he dead?”