“But I haven’t been telling it all around school,” said Benson indignantly. “I haven’t told a soul except Dick Barrow.”
“Well, Barrow’s told everybody else, I reckon. I learned it from Dave Merton this morning. You ought to know that if you tell a thing like that it’s sure to get around.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Gordon. I didn’t mean to be nasty about it. Besides, I don’t care about the two dollars. The dear old lady has sent another two since then—this very morning, in fact. I’ll tell the fellows that it’s all a lie; Barrow’s an awful liar anyhow, you know.”
“I think you’d ought to hunt for the money,” responded Wayne.
“Hunt? I have hunted, Gordon. I hunted all through the room the day it disappeared.”
“Well, I know that Gray didn’t steal it. But I’m going to pay it back to you.”
“No, you’re not, Gordon. I don’t want your money. If Gray didn’t take it you’ve no business paying it to me; and if he did take it, I don’t see where you come in. Hang it, I said I didn’t want the money. What’s the good of fussing about it?”
“Lots of good,” replied Wayne angrily. “You’ve spread a report that Carl Gray stole the money from you. You’d no business doing that, and you know it. I’m going to pay the two dollars to you so that you’ll shut up.”
“I’ve told you that I didn’t spread any report; I only told one fellow. And I had a right to tell him if I wanted to.”
“Why haven’t you accused Gray to his face?”