“But how much?”
“Seventy-two dollars.”
“Dear me! dear me! Seventy-two dollars! Why did you keep so large a sum in a place like this, Roy?”
“If I had a particle of common-sense I would have taken Bracebridge's advice long ago. He recommended putting it away safely two weeks ago, but
I forgot to do it. What a fool I was—fool! fool,”
“Don't say that, my boy. Come, cheer up. There is not a shadow of moral wrong for you in the whole affair. It's a misfortune for you, truly. You can bear that bravely. We may catch the thief yet.”
“Yes; but, sir, I shall be suspected. Many fellows will point the finger at me. Oh!—oh! I think I had better go home and give up all my plans.”
Give up all his plans! In the bitterness of his heart he thought that all was ruined, that the secret hopes of a vocation were now irretrievably lost, character gone, opportunities wasted. Well, Roy Henning was not the first and will not be the last of those who, when sudden misfortune comes, grow exceedingly pessimistic and want to give up. This was the first great grief of Roy's life. All the petty annoyances he had suffered from Garrett and his undesirable clique sank into insignificance in the face of this overwhelming calamity. Oh, why had he not followed Bracebridge's advice, and, days ago, put the money out of his own keeping!
“Yes,” he said again, “I think I had better leave——”
“No, no, no, no, Roy,” came the chorus from his friends.