"Who saw him?"
"I don't propose to tell—yet, if necessary, it will be told in a court of justice."
Wolverton saw that he was found out, but he could not afford to acknowledge. His best way of getting off was to fly into a rage, and this was easy for him.
"I denounce this as a base conspiracy," he said, rising as he spoke. "That receipt was stolen from my desk."
"Then we do not need to inquire who took it from the vest-pocket of my poor father."
"Robert Barton, I will get even with you for this insult," said Wolverton, shaking his fist at the manly boy. "You and your mother."
"Leave out my mother's name," said Bob, sternly.
"I will; I don't think she would be capable of such meanness. You, then, are engaged in a plot to rob me of a hundred and fifty dollars. To further this wicked scheme, you or your agent have stolen this receipt from my desk. I can have you arrested for burglary. It is no more nor less than that."
"You can do so if you like, Mr. Wolverton. In that case the public shall know that you stole the receipt from my poor father after his death. I can produce an eye-witness."
Wolverton saw that he was in a trap. Such a disclosure would injure him infinitely in the opinion of his neighbors, for it would be believed. There was no help for it. He must lose the hundred and fifty dollars upon which, though he had no claim to it, he had so confidently reckoned.