“I believe you.”
“You're a gentleman,” said Morrison, gratified that his word was accepted.
“Of course you have lost the amount which you consider due you. To be entirely candid with you, I do not feel any sympathy with you. Money won at play must be classed among ill-gotten gains. I hope you will realize this, and give up a discreditable profession.”
“I have no doubt your advice is good, sir. Do you want me and Tom any longer?”
“You are at liberty to go. I am indebted to you for coming. You have helped to clear up the mystery of the theft.”
“He's a little hard on us, Tom,” said Morrison, as they went down the front steps, “but he's treated us like a gentleman. That Ford is a rascal.”
“I think so, too,” Tom assented.
“And I shall never see a cent of that six hundred dollars,” continued Jim Morrison, ruefully.
“If you'll excuse me, I'll go to my own room,” said Mrs. Estabrook, pertly. “I want to think quietly of all this.”
“Go, by all means,” said the broker, courteously. “To-morrow morning your property shall be restored to you.”