"You generally are."
"Of course I am. How can I help it on such a mean salary?"
"I don't know what to think," said Henry to himself. "If Sam has the book he hasn't drawn any money on it, or he would go to the theater. Perhaps he is innocent."
Sam stayed out late. He did not go to the theater, being, as he said, short of money, but he lounged away the evening in billiard saloons, and it was a quarter past eleven before he got back to his room. When he entered Henry was fast asleep. Sam congratulated himself upon this. He felt that now was his chance to return the book. He might have replaced it in the trunk, but as Henry had thoroughly searched it, he would at once suspect that it bad been replaced. Besides, Henry might wake up, and detect him in the act.
After some consideration, Sam put it into Henry's inside coat pocket, and then, undressing himself, went to bed.
"I've got clear of it now," he thought, "and whatever Henry suspects, he can't prove anything."
The next morning, as Henry was dressing, he chanced to put his hand in his coat pocket, and drew out the book.
"What's that?" asked Sam, who had been watching him.
"It's my savings-bank book," answered Henry.
"Where did you find it?"