He crept up to bed, but his brain was excited by the punch he had drank, and it was only after tossing about for two hours that he at length sank into a troubled sleep.
CHAPTER XXIII.
WHO WAS THE THIEF?
When Roswell rose the next morning he felt cross and out of sorts. His head still ached a little, and he wished he were not obliged to go to the store. But it was out of the question to remain at home, so he started about half an hour after the usual time, and of course arrived late.
"You are late this morning," said Mr. Baker. "You must be more particular about being here in good season."
Roswell muttered something about not feeling quite well.
Putting his hand into his pocket by chance, his fingers came in contact with the key which he had made to open the cash drawer. Just as he was passing Mark, he drew it out and let it drop into the side-pocket of his jacket. So, if suspicion were excited, the key would be found on Mark, not on him.