Discouragement weighed heavily upon Dan and Brad as they left Mr. Merrimac’s home.
The bakery owner had been their No. 1 prospect and without a donation from him they knew the Den never could make a good showing in the solicitation.
“Mr. Hatfield gave us Mr. Merrimac’s name because he thought we were the best collectors,” Brad said in disgust. “Well, we muffed it.”
“We caught him in a bad mood,” Dan replied, equally sunk in gloom. “Do you think the old cod really lost money as he claimed? Or was it just another trick?”
“Search me, Dan. It’s a cinch three persons couldn’t have lost that cash. The whole thing is fantastic.”
“I almost wish we hadn’t found that box, Brad.”
“So do I. It’s going to make a peck of trouble. Well, what do we do now? Report to Mr. Hatfield?”
“May as well. He ought to know about Mr. Merrimac’s claim, even if it should prove phoney.”
The boys found the Cub leader in his front yard, raking leaves. Leaning on his rake, he listened attentively to their account of what had happened at Mr. Merrimac’s place.
“It’s a bad break not getting the donation,” he said. “But don’t take it too hard. Mr. Merrimac may come through later on. As for his claim that the money box belongs to him—well, I don’t know what to think about that.”