“If Luke took the money, he’ll deny it, all right. His father will take his word before mine, and his mother will back him up as she’s done fifty times before. I’ve got a few dollars saved up, and as Mr. Maslin has discovered that fact he won’t rest till he’s got it away from me. I need that to help me out after I leave here. So I guess I’d better go before Mr. Maslin gets his hands on it.”
“You’re right there, Dick. The old man’s fingers are like pot-hooks—they hold on to everything they fasten to. Once he gets possession of your money, you’ll never see it again.”
“You’d better go down and look out for the store, John, till Mr. Maslin turns up. I’m going to make a bundle of my things and start off.”
“Then you’re really determined to go, Dick?”
“Yes,” replied the boy, resolutely, “I am. Mr. Maslin has called me a thief, and that’s the limit with me.”
“Well, I wish you luck. Let me hear from you some time. I’d like to know how ye get on,” and the hired man held out his hand.
“Thank you, John. I sha’n’t forget you.”
They shook hands, and Huskins went down stairs.
Dick closed his room-door and pushed the chest of drawers against it, as he did not want to be interrupted or taken at a disadvantage.
Then he put on his best suit, made a compact bundle of such articles as he deemed indispensable, put Mr. Maslin’s old diary into an inside pocket of his jacket, and was ready to leave the house.