“Try it.”
Tom changed his voice, adopting Rupert’s rather affected tone.
“I shouldn’t think,” he began, “that you would associate with that Tom Thatcher. He pegs shoes in father’s shop, and isn’t fit for gentlemen like us to notice. My father doesn’t like me to keep such low company.”
Harry laughed heartily.
“You must have been listening some time when Rupert was speaking to me,” he said.
“Then I hit right, did I?”
“Couldn’t come nearer.”
“I thought so. Yet father and Mr. Simpson worked side by side at the shoe bench. They went to California together. Both secured a great deal of money, but my poor father didn’t live to come home.”
“And his money? What became of that?” inquired Harry.
“No one knows. He was probably robbed of it.”