“It would have been,” said Harvey.
“I don’t know whether it would or not,” responded Henry Burns. “We’d have to turn it over to the authorities, I suppose, to see if any one claimed it—hullo! what’s this?”
Running the litter through his fingers, he turned up from the very bottom a piece of the paper that had escaped entire mutilation. He held it up triumphantly to the light.
“We’ve got one prize,” he cried. “It’s the only one that isn’t destroyed—but it’s fifty dollars, and that’s something.”
“But there’s only a piece of it,” said Harvey.
“More than half,” said Henry Burns, joyfully. “That’s enough. We can redeem it.”
“Oh, but isn’t that awful?” groaned Harvey, gazing ruefully at the litter of paper that filled the drawer. “Just think of all that money going to make a nest for mice.”
“It’s what you might call extravagance,” replied Henry Burns. “I wonder how much there was. We’ll never know, though. But there was enough to make it worth while for Mr. Carleton to come down here after it.”
“Say,” exclaimed Harvey, suddenly, “do you suppose that’s what the squire’s after?”
Henry Burns smiled, and stood for a moment thinking, before he replied.