“That was a swell place,” said Arnold scathingly. “Here, I’ll pay for this and you can pay me back some time.”
The salesman, sympathetic but a trifle impatient, started to accept Arnold’s money, but Toby interfered. “No, please, Arn! I’d rather not, thanks. I’ve lost my money and it’s my own fault and—”
“But you’ve got to buy your presents! We’ll go down to the office and get some more from dad. I’ve only got about three and a half.”
“I’d rather not. I couldn’t pay it back for a long while. I’ll just have to tell the folks what happened, Arn. They won’t mind—much—when they understand.”
“But why not let me loan you enough for the razor set, anyway? You don’t need to pay me back for a year, you silly chump!”
But Toby was obdurate. “I—maybe I’ll come back for that later,” he told the salesman apologetically. “Thanks for your trouble.”
“That’s all right,” returned the man heartily. “It’s too bad you lost it. You didn’t feel anything, did you? I mean you wouldn’t know where it happened?”
Toby’s eyes narrowed and he stared for a moment straight ahead. Then, before Arnold could stop him, he had turned and was plunging determinedly through the crowd. Arnold hurried after him, sighting him now and then and finally reaching him near the entrance.
“Where are you going?” panted Arnold, seizing the other by the arm.
“I don’t know,” answered Toby thoughtfully. “Listen, Arn. While you were asking that man where the razors were I felt something tug at my coat and I looked around and there was a man pushing by me. He said he was sorry or something and—and beat it. I’ll bet you anything he did it!”