“Nothing,” he muttered. He pulled his chair out and seated himself at the table, drawing his books toward him. [“Well, it’s gone,” he said.] “That’s pretty plain. Guess we’d better be thinking of studying.”
Cal took his place across the table but felt very little like studying. Eight dollars seemed a whole lot of money to Cal and I think the loss troubled him more than it did Ned. He opened his French book, but his mind, instead of applying itself to verbs, concerned itself with the problem of the missing money. Who, he wondered, could have taken it? And had it really been stolen or had Ned himself spent it and forgotten all about the circumstances? Or had Ned, in spite of his thorough search, put it somewhere else than in the collar-box? If it had been stolen suspicion must attach itself to some member of the household. That any of the fellows would do such a thing was quite out of the question. Quite as plainly, Marm was above suspicion. That left only Hulda, the maid. Hulda had been there at West House, Cal had heard, for several years, and surely she would never have kept her place had she not been honest. No, the theory of theft was hardly plausible, he decided. Ned must have spent or mislaid the money.
He glanced up and surprised Ned observing him across the study table, and although Ned’s eyes dropped quickly back to his open book Cal had time to read the message in them. A little shiver passed up his spine and he felt the blood rushing into his face. He dropped his own gaze, feeling suddenly very miserable and lonely. It was plain enough now. Ned suspected him of stealing the money! He recalled Ned’s strange question: “Don’t you want that too?” and now he understood. He felt terribly hurt and wounded, for he had grown fond of his chum, and that Ned could suspect him of anything so mean and despicable was like a blow in the face. But he did suspect him; that was too evident. For a moment Cal wanted to spring up and declare his innocence. Surely Ned would believe him! But the tears were very near his eyes just then and so he stared at his book and sat silent.
Presently indignation began to take possession of him. What right had Ned to suspect him of being a thief? Just because he was poor and didn’t wear good clothes like the other fellows was no reason to think him a robber! He was just as decent as the rest of them, in spite of his shabby clothes! Ned thought him a thief, did he? Well, he might go on thinking so for all Cal cared. Some day the money would be found, like as not, and then Ned would see what a mistake he had made. And when he did he could beg Cal’s pardon until he was black in the face, and Cal would never forgive him! Never! He was all hurt pride now, and the first and softer misery had left him. Let Ned—yes, and all the rest of them—think what they liked! They were all snobs anyway!
Cal learned very little of his lessons that evening, nor, I fancy, did Ned do much better. They were both glad when Sandy’s door banged open and he gave the signal to lay books aside. Almost simultaneously Spud demanded admittance.
“Say, Cal, can you get that algebra?” he asked as he came in and seated himself on Cal’s bed. “It’s the hardest old stuff I ever did see. What’s the matter with you chaps, anyway?” he went on, sitting up and staring at them. “Anybody dead?”