“Jeremiah,” said Mrs. Brackett, her parsimony overcome by this consideration, “it is true what George says. We must manage to pay him the money.”
“If you think best, Lucindy,” said her husband, submissively; “but allow me to suggest that if it is true, and we lose father’s money, we shall be very close-pressed ourselves.”
“You don’t understand, brother-in-law,” said White, “that the theft of your bank book will blast Henry’s, or rather Andy Gordon’s, reputation, and consign him to a prison.”
“That will be one comfort,” said Mrs. Brackett, her eyes lighting up with malicious exultation.
“Moreover, when the old man finds out what a scamp the boy is, he won’t be very apt to make him his heir.”
“George, you’re a great man,” said Brackett, admiringly. “It takes you to find out things.”
“Thank you, Jeremiah!” said White, modestly. “You must remember that I have knocked about the world long enough to get my wits sharpened.”
“What shall we do about this matter? How shall we proceed? Shall we have the boy arrested?”
“I’ll tell you. Send for the old man and the boy at once. Then we’ll go upstairs together and discover the bank book in the boy’s drawer.”
“There’s one objection,” said Brackett, uneasily. “Father doesn’t know that we have any money in the savings bank.”