"Oh, of course not," said the other. "Gentlemen never do such things. I want to burrow your money, that is all."
"I don't want to lend."
"I dare say not," sneered the other; "but I shan't be able to respect your wishes. The sooner you give me the money the better."
Harry had two pocketbooks. The one contained his own money—about forty dollars—the other the money of his employer. The first was in the side pocket of his coat, the second in the pocket of his pants. The latter, as was stated in the preceding chapter, contained one hundred and fifty dollars. Harry heartily repented not having left it behind, but it was to late for repentance. He could only hope that the robber would be satisfied with one pocketbook, and not suspect the existence of the other. There seemed but little hope of saving his own money. However, he determined to do it, if possible.
"Hurry up," said the stranger, impatiently. "You needn't pretend you have no money. I know better than that. I saw you pay the landlord."
"Then he saw the professor's pocketbook," thought Harry, uneasily. "Mine is of different appearance. I hope he won't detect the difference."
"I hope you will leave me some of the money," said Harry, producing the pocketbook.
"It is all I have."
"How much is there?"
"About forty dollars."