“What irregularities?”
“That check of Mrs. Randolph’s, for instance. It will be sent to her the first of the month, and she will claim it’s a forgery. Then, there’s that deposit of Martin’s, and several other little things. It would be policy for you to straighten out those tangles at once, Eric, before you are made to do it.”
Eric pondered a while, then drew a sheet of paper toward him and began to figure. He seemed pleased with the results and at once set to work to correct the books. It took him until noon to finish his task, for he had undertaken a delicate matter, and some transactions were difficult to cover up or gloss over.
While Mr. Boothe was at dinner Eric took occasion to make the cash straight, in such a way that it would not arouse the cashier’s suspicion. Phil took no part in the matter and let Eric make restitution in his own way.
“I’ve made good, Phil,” the young culprit whispered, eagerly. “Every customer’s account is now as square as a die, as far as I know, and I’ve charged my own account with some of the withdrawals and credited it with the money I’ve just turned over to the bank.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Phil, greatly relieved. But he spoke coldly, for he knew the banker’s son had acted only from fear, and not because it was the right thing to do. Involuntarily, however, Eric had saved Phil Daring from the possibility of being accused of those dangerous defalcations.
During the afternoon Eric glanced continually at the door of his father’s office, expecting any moment a summons into that stern presence. The strain upon his nerves was terrible, and Phil knew that he was already beginning to suffer punishment. At one time Eric asked anxiously:
“What ought I to do with the rest of the money, Phil?”
“I don’t know,” was the reply; for Phil thought of Phœbe and her secret and was unable to advise Eric because he had no idea where the money had come from that his sister had put in the safe.