While the Cubs talked, Fred Hatfield came into the house. He too had been calling on building fund prospects and reported that he had obtained pledges totaling nearly one hundred and twenty dollars.
“You did better than we did,” Brad congratulated him.
“Just luck,” Fred returned modestly. “Tomorrow I’ll probably get a lot of turn-downs. Say, where’s Dad?”
“That’s what were wondering,” Dan replied, glancing at the wall clock. Already Mr. Hatfield had been upstairs more than ten minutes.
“He went after the money box,” Brad explained. “I don’t know what’s keeping him.”
At that moment, Mr. Hatfield came hurriedly down the stairway.
The Cubs saw at once that he did not have the money box.
“Fred,” his father said, pausing on the bottom step, “you didn’t by any chance dig into the lower drawer of my desk?”
“Why, no, father,” his son answered in surprise.
“Then the worst has happened. The money box is gone!”