Terry's heart stopped beating, and an icy chill ran through his body, as, pausing by the door, he waited in harrowing apprehension for the answer.
CHAPTER XII.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
Mr. Hobart was not the only friend Terry had among the employés at Drummond and Brown's. The storeman, John Connors, had always been kind to him in his own rough way. He pitied the boy because of his drunken father, and liked him because of his pluck and energy.
Having no boys of his own, he had several times, half in jest, half in earnest, offered to adopt him; and although his proposition could not be considered, it strengthened the warm affection that Terry felt towards the bluff "boss" of Long Wharf.
Intense, then, as was his relief that it was not his father who had been arrested for the stealing of the black bag, there quickly followed feelings of keen surprise and sorrow, for the suspected criminal proved to be no other than John Connors, in whose possession had been found a bag presumed to be the one taken from Mr. Drummond's desk.
Terry listened for a while to the conversation of the clerks as they exchanged wondering conjectures in reference to the matter, and all the time the conviction grew stronger within him that, however appearances might be against him, Connors was no more guilty than he was himself. At length he could not keep silence, and burst out with,—
"John Connors never stole the bag. I'm sure he didn't."
His fervent declaration of faith in the storeman's innocence roused a laugh, and one of the clerks turned upon him with the question,—