"I don't believe you will be wanted here to-day, Miss Lee. However, father's coming in directly, and he'll tell you for himself."
Before Mildred could answer, the burly figure of Mr. Hardman senior came toward them.
"'Morning, Miss Lee," he said, nodding his head. "Will you be kind enough to step into my room?"
It was a sort of office, close at hand, where the girls went to receive special orders, their weekly salary, or any necessary reprimands. The day before Milly had penetrated this sanctum to beg a loan of twenty-two dollars from her employer; now she followed him with doubting steps. What could it mean? Mr. Tom was seated in a big leather chair by the table, with the air of judge and jury, witness and lawyer.
"Sit down, Miss Lee," said the elder man, motioning her to a seat. "Now, Thomas, I think you can tell the story."
While Mildred mechanically dropped into a chair, the old man paced the floor, and Mr. Tom, veiling a sneer, began:
"Miss Lee, I'll go right to the main question. We've missed some money from the drawer. It disappeared day before yesterday morning. The sum was twenty-two dollars. Now as you were at the desk between twelve and two o'clock on that day, can you account for it?"
Mr. Tom drew up his little ferret eyes with a most malicious expression.
"Twenty-two dollars!" gasped Milly; her face was crimson. "No, I can not account for it. Twenty-two dollars?" she repeated the question with a look of blank dismay.
"Go on, Thomas," said Mr. Hardman senior.