“No, he hasn’t. And I don’t believe that Gray took the old bill. He doesn’t seem that sort, you see. Any fellow that can fix up second-hand golf balls to look like new doesn’t steal. Why, Gray remolded those brand new balls of mine so that they are almost as good as they were before you lammed them with the fire shovel!”
“Of course, Gray isn’t a thief!” said Wayne. “I suppose the fact of the matter is that Benson just mislaid the money somewhere and can’t find it. But he has no right to say that Gray stole it. And I’m going to see him and tell him so.”
“Good boy! Hope we don’t have hominy this morning.”
Wayne found Benson in his room in Turner at noon. Benson was a jovial, good-natured chap whom Wayne knew but slightly. He was in the senior class, though he had occupied four years in getting there, and was somewhat of a leader among a coterie of idlers whose aim was to have as good a time as they could and to pass the examinations by as narrow a margin as was possible. But there was nothing vicious about Benson, and Wayne had always liked him as much as their slight friendship warranted.
“Say, Benson,” Wayne began, as he took a seat on the edge of the study table, “what’s this about your losing some money and suspecting Carl Gray of taking it?”
“Why, nothing to make a fuss about,” answered Benson. “It’s this way. You know you came and asked me if I had any golf balls that needed fixing up, and I said I had. And the next day this fellow Gray came and got them. And then a couple of weeks later he turned up one day when I was sitting here and brought them back. I’d just got a letter from my aunt, and the old lady had inclosed a two-dollar bill. That’s a way she has, bless her! The bill was laying on the table near you there. I was reading a library book—Ploetz’s Epitome of Universal History, it was—and so when Gray came in I just told him to lay the balls on the table and said I’d pay him the next day; I owed him sixty cents, and didn’t have any change. Gray said all right and he hoped I’d like the balls, and went out. Then afterward I looked for the bill and it wasn’t there. Maybe he didn’t take it,” concluded Benson good-naturedly, “but it wasn’t to be found, and so I naturally suspected him.”
“But Carl Gray isn’t a thief, confound you, Benson!”
“Well, I dare say he didn’t take it. It doesn’t matter. But you said yourself that he was awfully hard up for money, you know, Gordon; and I thought that perhaps he saw the bill and concluded he needed it more than I did.”
“Well, if you really think that Gray took the money I’ll pay it back to you myself. Only you’ve got to keep your mouth shut, Benson, and not go telling it all around school. Why, hang it, it’s a shame to say such a thing about a fellow unless you can prove it!”