"Was he near the till?"
"That is a foolish question," thought Mr. Farrant. "Of course he'll shift the blame to the errand-boy. Broad has given him a fine chance to wriggle out of it."
The same idea flashed through Jim's mind, but he rejected it scornfully.
"No," said he, with the utmost deliberation, "he did not go near the counter. I took the bag from him myself, and he went out again."
"Then, if you didn't steal the money, where is it?" asked the stationer testily. He was really a kind-hearted man, and the miserable business upset him terribly.
"Come, my boy," said Mr. Farrant; "this is a sad case, but you will do no good by denying your guilt. Better make a clean breast of it, and trust to your master's leniency."
Now if I have drawn anything like an accurate picture of James Hartland, you will not be surprised that this well-meant suggestion made him very angry. The blood rushed to his face, his eyes glowed, and, as Dicky would have said, "the monkey was up" with a vengeance.
"I don't know that it is any business of yours," he exclaimed. "I'm responsible to my master, and not to you," which was very rude, and very ill-advised.
"Oh, all right," said Mr. Farrant; "go your own way. You'll feel a trifle less high and mighty when you've been in prison a week or two."
"It will be an awful disgrace, Hartland. You'll be ruined for life," observed Mr. Broad. "Come, my boy, tell me the truth; I have no wish to be severe with you. Where is the money?"