Regret and mortification overwhelmed the culprit.
"It's no matter now, Don."
"But it is, old chap. I suppose that knocked you out of buying your typewriter. It's a darn shame."
"I was pretty sore, Don—no mistake!" admitted Paul. "But it's all right now. The accounts are O.K.; I shall get my money back; and I have a typewriter into the bargain. Mr. Carter has just given me a second-hand machine they weren't using."
"Did he know about this muddle?"
"Not a yip! He did know, though, that I wanted the typewriter."
"Well, I'll take back all I ever said about him," cried Donald. "He's a trump! As for you, Kip—you deserve a hundred typewriters! It's all-fired good of you not to rub this in. I know I've caused you a lot of trouble and I'm sorry. That's all I can say."
"Shut up, Tortoise. It's all right now," repeated Paul. "Only don't go appropriating any more funds that don't belong to you. We might jail you next time. Taking other people's cash isn't much of a stunt."
"You bet it isn't!" cried Donald heartily. "When you do it you think it's going to be easy as fiddle to slip it back again; but it doesn't seem to turn out that way. Jove, but I'm glad I'm clear of this mess!"
"I guess we both will sleep better to-night than we have for one while," called Paul, moving toward the house. "So long, Don!"