'Yes, sir; there's nothing else for it,' agreed the manager; and the two, who had been talking as they went through the great storeroom where Chippy was waiting, passed out at a farther door, and disappeared.
Chippy left his practice, and fell into thought. Things had been stolen from the warehouse. That was plain enough. The Elliotts were being robbed. Chippy was on fire in a moment. His friends and benefactors were being robbed. It was clear that Mr. Elliott meant to set the police to watch the place. Chippy promised himself that a certain boy scout would also take a hand in the game. Skinner's Hole was close by, and his home was not four hundred yards from the warehouse. That would be convenient for keeping watch.
That evening Chippy ate his supper so slowly and thoughtfully that his mother asked him what was on his mind.
'It's all right about yer place, ain't it?' she asked anxiously.
'Rather,' replied Chippy, waking up and giving her a cheerful nod. 'This ain't a job like old Blades's. Do yer work, and yer all right at Elliott Brothers'.'
'Yer seemed a-moonin' like,' said Mrs. Slynn.
'Thinkin',' returned Chippy briefly. 'I got a bit o' scoutin' to do to-night as 'ull keep me out pretty late, so don't get a-worryin', mother, an' sendin' people to see if I've dropped into the "Old Cut."'
The Old Cut was a dangerous, unprotected creek, where more than one resident of Skinner's Hole had been drowned in darkness and fog, and its name was proverbial on local lips.
'Tek care o' yerself, my boy,' said Mrs. Slynn. 'I don't know what I should do without yer.'
Chippy waved his hand with an air of lofty protection, and went on with his supper.