“What’s—” began Benson; then he stopped with a gasp. On the open pages rested a new two-dollar bill, folded once. “Did you find it there?” he asked in bewilderment. Wayne nodded.
“Well!” Benson took the bill and felt of it as though doubting its genuineness. “I must have slipped it in there to mark my place when Gray came in that day!”
“You must have,” answered Wayne dryly. Benson flushed and looked worried.
“By Jove, Gordon, I’m awfully sorry! Such a stupid thing to do! I remember now that I took the book back that evening just before supper, and I suppose I didn’t open it once. Do you think I ought to apologize to Gray?”
“No, he doesn’t know but that you found it long ago; you know I told him you had. No, there’s nothing to do but grab the money and put it somewhere where it won’t get lost. You see, Benson, I don’t want to be accused of taking it away with me,” he added unkindly.
“Oh, I say, Gordon, let up!”
“All right,” laughed Wayne, “we’ll forget it. I’ll take the book with me. And, by the way, if you feel that you’d like to make up to Gray for—for suspecting him, you know, why, bust a golf club or two and let him mend them.”
On the stairs of Bradley Wayne encountered Paddy, who threw his arms about him and hugged him ecstatically.
“Hurrah! He’s gone! He’s went! He’s departed!”