"Maybe she has done it to plague me," Janice thought. "She is awfully mad at me. She thought it was my fault that the cats got into the back kitchen. And now she means to pay me back. She means to return it."
"But where has she gone? And what shall I do?" were the final queries formed in Janice Day's mind.
She must not stand idle. It was nearing school time. Nor could she neglect the matter until she came home from school at three o'clock. If Olga Cedarstrom were really dishonest, she might be getting farther and farther away from Greensboro while Janice remained inactive!
She must do something.
Janice went slowly downstairs. First Of all it was her duty to communicate with her father at the bank. She hated to tell him of this happening, for she realized keenly her fault in the matter. But not for a moment did the girl consider hiding the unfortunate affair from Broxton Day.
She went to the telephone and called the bank When she asked for Mr. Day. She could almost see him taking the receiver from the hook when the bell on his telephone rang.
"Yes?" Daddy's voice sounded clearly and courteously over the wire. "This is Day."
"Often when he said this over the telephone Janice would respond, giggling: "And this is Knight—Street! Number eight-forty-five."
But she did not feel at all like joking on this occasion. All in a rush she told him of the tragic happening.
"And I don't know what to do, Daddy," was the way in which she ended her story.