“I thank you,” said Roy. “The mystery is all right, all right, and it proves the good old rule that your sins are sure to find you out. I hold here an envelope to be delivered to Tomasso Slade—main geezer of the Elks. Stand, Tomasso, so I can get a good shot at you! Who sent the money for Raymond Hollister to stay at camp till September?” he shouted, suddenly. “And you thought you’d get away with it, didn’t you—you big sneak! Deny it at your peril! Now I know where the profits from the Friday Evening Pest went! There’s a fellow—Rolly Culver, from Montreal, Canada—who has your number, all right! Deny the allegation and denounce the alligator, if you dare!”
Everybody stared at Tom, who was blushing right up to the roots of his towsled shock of rebellious hair.
“What do you mean?” said he, sullenly.
“Ah, well may you ask what I mean, Sherlock Nobody Holmes!” triumphed Roy, shaking the envelope exasperatingly in Tom’s face. “I mean that you tried to beat Mr. John Temple to it—that’s what I mean! And Rolly Culver from Canada FOILED you! See?”
“No, I don’t,” said Tom, glancing shamefacedly across the deck at little Raymond and looking as if he had committed a crime.
“I mean it’s good we hiked up there,” said Roy, more seriously. “A check got there yesterday from Mr. Temple—a check for fifty bucks—mailed in the West Indies. It was for Raymond to stay at camp till fall.”
“Go-o-odni-ght!” exclaimed Will Bronson.
Garry stared, intensely interested.
“You ought to have heard Jeb tell about it,” said Roy. “‘When I see es haow they follyed one anuther up,’” he went on, accurately mimicking Jeb. “‘I sez thar’ must be sump’n wrong somewhar.’ And just by chance,” Roy continued, “he hauled out of his old buckskin wallet the old crumpled piece of paper that had come with the other money—the fifty buckarinos in cash—and it’s lucky he happened to show it to that Culver kid, believe me! That fellow said it was the same writing as the writing on the bulletin board at camp. Other fellows said, no; but he stuck to it and showed them how to compare curves and letters, and strokes and dots and things—even straight lines—and there you are,” concluded Roy, delightedly. “We all know who had charge of the bulletin board—— And you thought you’d make Mr. Temple the goat, didn’t you, with your two twenties and a ten! You thought he’d forgotten Raymond, didn’t you. And you thought you’d get away with it! We’ve got your number, Tomasso, my boy, and we know why you’ve been wearing old gray flannel shirts and book straps, and things. Here you are—there’s your fifty!” he concluded, throwing the envelope triumphantly in Tom’s face. “It would have gone back to Mr. Temple if it hadn’t been for Rolly Culver and me!”
There was no mistaking Roy’s overwhelming delight, despite his denunciatory tone and he watched joyously as Tom, distressed and uncomfortable, in face of the whole troop’s stare, tore open the envelope and took out two twenties and a ten. For Roy had asked the camp trustees who cashed the check to return Tom’s money in just the form in which he had sent it, when, having seen the Temples start for South America, he had gone to the post-office at home in Bridgeboro, and with characteristic disregard of the risk, had sent his whole savings in cash to Temple Camp, that nature might complete the good work she had begun for little Raymond Hollister.