Again he paused.
"At first I thought I'll sell a Liberty bond I had and put my hundred in the bank to dad's credit. Then I happened to think that my father had the bond locked up in his safe-deposit box and that I couldn't get at it without telling him. I didn't know what to do. I simply hadn't the courage to go home and tell the truth. You wouldn't like to face your father and tell him you'd lost a cool hundred of his cash for him. Besides, I was sure it wasn't lost. I felt morally certain I had somehow misplaced that envelope and that it would come to light. I hunted all day, though, through my pockets and everywhere I could think of and it didn't appear. I began to get scared. What was I going to do? When the bank statement came in my father would see right off that the money had not been deposited. And anyway, even if he didn't, it was only square to tell him what I'd done. I was casting round for a way out when that noon Mel called me and asked me if I'd do an errand for him on the way home. He wanted me to stop at the bank as I passed and put in some March Hare money. It was a hundred dollars and it seemed to drop right out of the sky into my hands. I decided to deposit it to my father's credit and trust to finding the sum I'd lost to square up the school accounts."
A light of understanding began to break in on Paul.
He waited.
"I guess you know what's coming," Donald murmured.
"No, I don't."
"Well, somebody does," declared the boy wretchedly. "That's what's got me fussed. I chance to know how the March Hare books stood. Somebody's made good that money I took—made it good without saying a word about it."
Donald, studying his friend's face, saw a gleam of satisfaction pass over it.
"Kip!" he whispered, "was it you? Did you put the money back when you found it gone from the treasury?"
"Mel and I divided it. We found the accounts short and of course we had to do something. We thought we'd made a mistake in the books," explained Paul. "So we turned in the sum and evened things up."