"Then hereafter you'd better lock them. Well, I'll be off, and will meet you at the room."
Dan was not long in reaching his humble home. The more he thought of it, the more he distrusted Mike, and feared that he might have had a sinister design in the deception he had practiced upon his mother. To lose the rent money would be a serious matter. Mr. Grab hated him, he knew full well, and would show no mercy, while in the short time remaining it would be quite impossible to make up the necessary sum.
Dan sprang up the stairs, several at a bound, and made his way at once to the little work-table. He pulled the drawer open without ceremony, and in feverish haste rummaged about until, to his great joy, he found the pocket-book.
His heart gave a joyous bound.
"It's all right, after all," he said. "Mike isn't so bad as I thought him."
He opened the pocket-book, and his countenance fell. There was a twenty-five cent scrip in one of the compartments, and that was all.
"He's stolen the money, after all," he said, his heart sinking. "What are we going to do now?"
He waited till his mother reached home. She looked inquiringly at him. One glance told her what had happened.
"Is it gone, Dan?" she gasped.
"That is all that is left," answered Dan, holding up the scrip.