Chapter XVII: At Cross Purposes

Tess had been over to see how Sammy Pinkney was after dinner. That was her usual evening task now. She would go into the Pinkney yard and yodle.

"Ee-yow! ee-yow! ee-yow!" That was the way in which Sammy himself usually announced his coming to the old Corner House, and Tess had learned it from him.

Then Mrs. Pinkney would come to the side door to speak to the little girl.

"How is Sammy to-night, Mrs. Pinkney?" Tess would query. "We hope he's better."

And Mrs. Pinkney would tell her. In the morning on her way to school, Tess would repeat the inquiry. For a week the reports were very grave indeed. Sammy knew nobody--not even his father and mother. The poor little "pirate" was quite delirious; his temperature was very high; and Dr. Forsyth could give the parents little encouragement.

But this evening, for the first time, Tess' shrill little "Ee-yow! ee-yow! ee-yow!" was heard by the boy inside, and recognized. Mrs. Pinkney came running to the door.

"I do wish I dared run out and kiss you, Tessie Kenway!" she cried, and there were tears of thankfulness in her eyes. "Sammy heard you. He's better. Bless you, dear! He _is_ better. Yodle for him again."

So Tess did, and right away there was an unexpected answer. Somebody repeated "Ee-yow! ee-yow! ee-yow!" behind her in Willow Street.

"Goodness gracious!" squealed Tess, running wildly out of the gate, "is that you, Neale O'Neil?"

"That's who it is, honey," said the white-haired boy, cheerfully.

"Oh, Neale! so much has happened since you've been gone. Sammy's got scarlet fever; but he's better. And Almira's got four kittens. And we've got visitors, and one of 'em's a girl and she can turn on the trapeze--so easy! And you've got a whole heap of Christmas presents in the sitting room that you've never seen yet."

"All right. I'll go in and see 'em right now," Neale said, and took her hand in his free one. When they mounted the porch steps and Agnes and Ruth and Dot came running to the door to meet him, he dropped his heavy bag in a corner and did not take it into the house. He had just come from the railroad station.

"You see," Neale said, when he was hustled into the warm sitting room by the four Corner House girls, and even before he took off his coat and cap and gloves, "I got a letter about Uncle Bill Sorber from one of the other Sorbers. He was hurt two months ago--badly burned, poor old fellow!--when the circus arrived at winter quarters.

"They always give a last performance there at Tiverton, and another when they start out in the spring. There was an accident this time. A tank of gasoline fell from aloft, and got afire, and Uncle Bill was hurt badly. The doctors gave him up at last, and so they sent for me."

"I know about it," said Agnes, nodding.

"How'd you know? Must have seen it in the paper, I s'pose," said Neale. "Well, I missed it. I didn't know a thing about his being hurt till I found that letter at home Christmas Eve."

"But why did you go away without telling us?" Ruth asked earnestly.

"I didn't want to bother you girls, then. And you expected me to help you at that Christmas tree business, too. So I only left the note with Unc' Rufus and told him not to give it to you till just before dinner. I fixed it with Con Murphy to take my place. He did, didn't he?"

"Yes," the eager Agnes said.

The little girls had danced off to the kitchen on some errand. The boy continued:

"Well! I got up there to the winter quarters and found Uncle Bill better. But the poor old fellow had been asking for me. I don't suppose we ever will understand each other," sighed Neale. "He can't see why I want to be something different from a circus performer; and an education doesn't mean a thing to him but foolishness.

"But I guess he really does have some interest in me--"

"Of course he does, Neale," interposed Ruth, admonishingly. "I could tell that the time he was here and I talked with him."

"Just the same, I wish I had money myself, so's not to have to take any from him," the boy said stubbornly.

"Well," burst out Ruth, "you have had plenty of money with you lately, Neale O'Neil, whether you know it or not! What under the sun have you done with that great old book Aggie found in the garret?"

"Oh, mercy, yes, Neale!" put in Agnes. "What did you do with it? Ruth's just about worried her heart and soul out about it."

"What for?" asked Neale, flushing deeply.

"Well, goodness!" cried Agnes. "I believe that Ruth believes that old book is full of money."

"What of it?" asked Neale, still looking red and angry.

"Why, Neale, we'd like to know what you've done with it," Ruth said, seriously. "Aggie had no right to let you take the book."

"Why not?" snapped the boy again.

"Because it was not hers. It does not belong to us. It should not have gone out of my care. It--"

"Well! why didn't you take care of it, then?" demanded the boy, sharply.

"I--I didn't know what was in it. I couldn't believe it!" declared Ruth, with clasped hands.

"For pity's sake! what _is_ the matter with you, Ruth Kenway?" cried Agnes, feeling that they were all at cross purposes. "If it was real money or counterfeit, either one, of course Neale was to be trusted with it, I should hope."

"_If!_" ejaculated Ruth, desperately. "You don't know what you say, Agnes. There's no 'if' about it. It is real money."

"No?" gasped the astounded Agnes, who had never really believed this was so. "How do you know that, Ruth Kenway? It is preposterous."

"It is so," repeated Ruth, more calmly. "I took one of the ten dollar bills and had it examined at the bank. Mr. Crouch says it is good money. I didn't believe it myself till he said so. Then I came back to find the book and lock it away somewhere. And you had given it to Neale."

"Oh, Neale!" gasped Agnes, sitting down suddenly.

"Well! what if I did have it? And what if it is good money?" repeated the white-haired boy, still standing as though on the defensive. "Do you think I'd run away with it, Ruth Kenway?"

"You _did_ go away with it, didn't you?" returned Ruth, a little sharp herself, now. "I have been worried to death."

"But of course it's all right," Agnes hastened to put in, trying to throw oil on the troubled waters. "You brought the old album back with you, didn't you, Neale?"

"Yes, I did," Neale admitted. "But I'd like to know what Ruth means by what she says. If there _had_ been a hundred thousand dollars in that book do you s'pose I'd _steal_ it?"

"A hundred thousand dollars!" murmured Agnes. "Oh--dear--me!"

"I didn't know what to think," Ruth said slowly. "I have worried--oh! so much!" and she sobbed.

"Because I carried away that old book?" repeated Neale.

"Yes. Oh! it would have been just the same if anybody had carried it off. I don't know who all that fortune belongs to; but we must take care of it till Mr. Howbridge comes."

"Oh, my goodness me!" squealed Agnes. "Is it true? Can it be so? All--that--money?"

"I'm sure it isn't ours," Ruth said quietly. "Uncle Peter never hid away any such sum. He wasn't as rich as all that. But we've got to give an account of it to somebody."

"What for?" demanded her sister. "I found it."

"But findings isn't always keepings, Aggie--especially where so much money is concerned. A hundred thousand dollars!"

"A hundred thousand dollars!" repeated Agnes, in the same awed tone.

Neale pulled his cap tighter down over his ears. It was an angry gesture.

"Where are you going, Neale?" demanded Ruth, exasperated. "Do sit down and tell us what you have done. Don't you see we are anxious? I never saw such a boy! Do tell us!"

"I don't know why I should tell you anything," returned the boy, grumpily enough. "You think I'm a thief. I won't stay here."

"Oh, Neale!" shrieked Agnes, seeing how serious this difference was. "Don't get mad."

"Let him return the book," said Ruth, insistently. "This isn't any foolish matter, I assure you. He has no right to keep it."

"Did I say I was going to keep it?" flared out Neale O'Neil.

"Well, you have kept it. You carried it away to Tiverton, you say," went on Ruth, accusingly.

"Well, so I did," admitted Neale.

"What for, I'd like to know?" demanded the oldest Corner House girl in exasperation.

"I lugged it along to show to somebody."

"What for--if you didn't think it was good money?"

"Oh, Ruth!" begged Agnes again. "Don't!"

"I want him to answer," cried her elder sister, severely. "Why did he carry the album away? And where is it now?"

It must be confessed that Ruth Kenway had worked herself into a fever of excitement. It was the result of the repressed anxiety she had so long endured regarding this strange and wonderful find of Agnes' in the old Corner House garret.

Neale was very pale now. He was usually slow to anger, and his friends, the Corner House girls, had never seen him moved so deeply before.

"I did think the bonds might be worth something," Neale said, at last, and hoarsely. "I told Aggie so."

"But the money?" cried Ruth.

"_You_ say it's good," the boy returned. "You can believe that's so if you want to. I didn't think it was when I took the book."

"I tell you Mr. Crouch, at the bank, said it was perfectly good. See here!" cried Ruth, desperately.

She ran for her purse that lay on the sewing-machine table. She opened it and drew forth the folded ten dollar bill. With it came the other bill she had put away.

"I showed him this!" Ruth began, when Agnes stooped to pick up the other.

"What's this?" the second sister asked.

"Why--why that's the one Mr. Howbridge gave me. I haven't needed to break it."

"And you had 'em both together?" demanded Agnes, shrewdly.

"Yes."

"Which one did you show Mr. Crouch then?"

The question stunned Ruth for the moment. She unfolded the bill she had taken out of the purse. It was quite a new silver certificate. Agnes unfolded the other. It was an old-style United States banknote, dated long before the girls' parents were born.

Neale, as well as the Kenway sisters, saw the significance of the discovery. The boy turned his face aside quickly and so hid the smile that automatically wreathed his lips.

"Why--why!" gasped Agnes, "if you showed Mr. Crouch _that_ bill, of course he said it was a good one. But how about this?"

Ruth turned like a flash on Neale again. "What do _you_ know about the money in the book? Isn't it good?" she demanded. "I believe you've found out."

"Well! what if I have?" and one would hardly recognize Neale O'Neil's pleasant voice in the snarling tone that now answered the oldest Corner House girl.

"Oh, Neale! is it?" cried Agnes.

But Neale gave her no reply. He was still glaring at Ruth whose expression of her doubt of his honesty had rasped the boy's temper till he fairly raged.

"If you want to find out anything about that stuff in the old book, you can do it yourself. I won't tell you. I'm through with the whole business," declared Neale.

"But--but where's the book?" asked Ruth, in rather a weak voice now.

"Oh, I brought it back," snapped Neale. "You'll find it outside on the porch--in my bag. That's all I carried in the old thing, anyway. You can have it."

He marched to the door and jerked it open. Agnes tried to call after him, but could not.

Neale banged to the door behind him and tramped down the hall. They heard him open the outer door and slam that. Then he thumped down the steps and made for the Willow Street gate.

"Oh, Ruth! what have you done?" gasped Agnes, wringing her hands. "Poor Neale!"

"I want that album!" exclaimed Ruth, jumping up.

"It--it can't be worth anything--that money," murmured Agnes, but followed her sister.

"It _is_ good money. I'm sure of it!" snapped Ruth.

She hurried to the porch. There was Neale's old bag in the dark corner. Ruth pounced upon it.

"Oh, Ruth!" cried Agnes. "It's never there."

"Yes, it is. He didn't stop when he went out. Of course it's here!"

Ruth had brought the satchel into the lighted hall and opened it. She turned it upside down and shook it.

But nothing shook out--not a thing. The bag was empty. The old album Agnes had found in the garret, and which had caused all their worry and trouble, had disappeared from Neale's satchel.