“It's paid, Allis.”
“Paid! I thought—”
“Wait, I'll come out;” and opening a door in the rail, he passed around to the girl.
“Father's note is paid,” he resumed, “but there's fierce trouble over it. Crane left the money, three thousand dollars, with Mortimer, and he stole”—the boy's voice lowered to a hoarse whisper—“a thousand of it to bet at Gravesend.”
“That's not true, Alan; God knows it's not true. Mortimer wouldn't steal.”
“Yes, he did,” persisted the brother, “and he begged of me to take the blame. He said it would ruin him, but that Crane wouldn't do anything to me. He's a vile, sneaking thief, Allis!”
“Hush, Alan; don't say that. It's all some dreadful mistake. The money will be found somewhere.”
“It has been found; Mortimer put it back. Why should he replace the money if he had not stolen it?”
“Where is Mr. Mortimer, Alan?”
The boy pointed with his thumb to the door of the cashier's office. “Crane's in there, too. I hope Mortimer owns up. He can't do anything else; they caught him putting the money back.”