“Say, what became of the trophy?” he demanded sharply. “You decided to take it down after all?”
“It’s gone,” Sally said, misery in her voice. “Stolen!”
The two girls waited for the explosion, but strangely, Jack said nothing for a moment.
“You warned me,” Sally hastened on. “Oh, it’s all my fault. It was conceited and selfish of me to display the trophy here. I deserve everything you’re going to say.”
Still Jack remained mute, staring at the beam.
“Go on—tell me what you’re thinking,” Sally challenged miserably.
“It’s a tough break,” Jack said without rancor.
“This will practically ruin the race,” Sally accused herself. “I can’t replace the trophy for there’s no other like it. An ordinary cup never would seem the same.”
“That’s so,” Jack gloomily agreed. “Well, if it’s gone, it’s gone, and there’s nothing more to be done.”
The boy’s calm acceptance of the calamity he had predicted, astonished Penny and Sally. Was this the Jack they knew? With a perfect opportunity to say, “I told you so,” he had withheld blame.