"Not at all," she said placidly. "If I go with you there's no reason why you should not look."
Oh, Mag, it was hard lines looking. Why?—Why, because the place was so bare and so small. There were so few things to move and it took such a short time, in spite of all I could do and pretend to do, that I was in despair.
"You must be right," I said at length, looking woefully up at her.
"Yes; I knew I was," she said steadily.
"I must have lost it."
"Yes."
There was no hope there. I turned to go.
"I'll lend you a nickel to get home, if you'll leave me your address," she said after a moment.
Oh, that admirable woman! She ought to be ruling empires instead of searching thieves. Look at the balance of her, Mag. My best acting hadn't shaken her. She hadn't that fatal curiosity to understand motives that wrecks so many who deal with—we'll call them the temporarily un-straight. She was satisfied just not to let me get ahead of her in the least particular. But she wasn't mean, and she would lend me a nickel—not an emotionally extravagant ten-cent piece, but just a nickel—on the chance that I was what I seemed to be.
Oh, I did admire her; but I'd have been more enthusiastic about it if I could have seen my way clear to the baby and the paper.