“Do you think there was money in the book?” he almost whispered.
“No, I don’t. You threw the book with force enough to tear it all to pieces; but there may have been a paper or something else in the leaves which told where his money was hidden. But between you and me, I would not put the least faith in it.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because the old gentleman is not in his right mind. You have talked about money, money and nothing but money ever since he has been here, and you have finally got him in the way of believing that he has some.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. The old fellow talks plainly enough sometimes, and then again he rattles on and you can’t make head or tail of what he says. But I wonder if there was anything in that book? If there was anything there, it must have been put in years ago, when the old man was right in his top story.”
“It would not do any harm for you to find out. You can tell him that you did not mean anything by what you had said—”
“That depends upon whether I do or not,” said Jonas hastily. “I will wait until I see what is in that book first. If there is a plan in there which tells where to go to find the money, but you say he hasn’t got any, why then I will be kinder good natured with him; but if there is nothing there, he can just keep out of my house; and that’s all there is about it.”
Jonas thought that by this time Mr. Nickerson had gone to bed, so he went out and started toward a little lean-to, it could scarcely have been called any thing better, which was the place where the old man slept. There were leaks in the roof and sundry cracks through which the severe winds could seek entrance, but that was not the kind of sleeping place Jonas had in the cabin. There everything was tight, and there were a few articles of furniture scattered around, such as a table and chairs and a wash stand. In place of a shake-down he had a regular bed-stead and the blankets and quilts on it were abundant to keep him warm in the coldest weather. It was dark in the lean-to, but Jonas knew the way. He groped his way up to the shake-down but there was nobody in it. In fact the bed had not been slept in at all.
“By George! I reckon the old fool took me at my word,” said Jonas, as he turned toward the door. “I did not think the fellow had so much pluck. I wonder where he is!”
He bent his steps this time toward the lean-to which Nat called his room. It was a little better than Mr. Nickerson’s and but a very little better. It was tight but there was no furniture in it; the dirt floor did duty as chairs and washstand. Whenever Nat got up in the morning and desired to perform his ablutions, there was the branch handy, and it was but little trouble to go down there. It was dark in here, too, but a slight feeling among the bed clothes showed Jonas that somebody had been there. The pillow was gone, and so were the quilts that Nat usually spread over him.