They had walked along slowly but were now almost in the village. Persons were coming along, eagerly scanning such pieces of mail as make up the evening delivery; post card and advertisements composing the best part of it, judging from the stray bits of paper carelessly discarded and sent fluttering about the street.
Emerging from the River Road, Gloria and Tom faced Main Street.
“Gee whiz!” exclaimed Tom. “If there ain’t old Nance! Just let me duck!” and before Gloria could answer, the boy turned a corner and disappeared. But Nancy Trivett came straight for Gloria—head on!
“Where’d that young rowdy go?” demanded the irate woman, her voice as sharp as her unpleasant features.
Gloria did not deign to answer her. She attempted to pass on with her head higher than felt comfortable.
“I saw him!” continued the woman. “And I’ll get him too. He needn’t think he’s goin’ to get away with my hard earned money—”
“Mrs. Trivett, what are you talking about?” asked Gloria angrily. “Do you mean to say you think Tom Whitely took your money?”
“Oh, no; of course he didn’t take it. He just found it—”
“He did not.” If Gloria shrieked this reply she had righteous indignation on her side. “Tom didn’t find a cent.”
“Abe Nash saw him have three dollars!”