At last Ned was suited, and, without intending a pun, so was Cal. The suit selected was a rough mixture that the salesman called a Harris tweed but which Ned was certain had never crossed the water. It was gray in effect, but close examination revealed a little of every color known. It was really rather stylish and had at the same time the merit, approved of Cal, of not readily showing dirt. The price was twelve dollars and Cal went down into his pocket for an additional two dollars and fifteen cents. Then Ned insisted on the purchase of a blue necktie, price thirty-five cents, and a leather belt at half a dollar. Cal was growing uneasy and was very glad when the suit was boxed and delivered to him and he could hurry out before Ned discovered any further extravagances for him to indulge in.
On the way home they talked quite frankly of the mystery of Ned’s missing eight dollars. “Of course, Cal,” said his room-mate, “I might have been mistaken about seeing you up that night, but it’s hard to believe. Still, you ought to know whether you were up or not.”
“I don’t understand that,” said Cal. “I’m just certain sure that I wasn’t out of bed, but both you and Spud saw someone.”
“Yes, and I’d say it was a burglar, only it isn’t likely a burglar would parade around in night-clothes, is it? Of course, it might have been one of the other fellows in there for some joke or other. Maybe when he heard about the money being missing he didn’t like to fess up.”
“I’ll bet that was it!” cried Cal with relief. “Only—only where did the money get to?”
“Well, I’ve been saying lately that I thought I’d just naturally put it somewhere and forgotten about it, and now I’m beginning to think that’s what really happened, Cal. Only where the dickens did I put it? I’ve looked all over the shop.”
“You’re quite sure you didn’t spend it?” asked Cal.
“Of course I am. Gee, if I spent eight dollars I guess I’d have something to show for it, wouldn’t I?”