Chapter III: Part 3

"Every one's down on me," answered Jim sulkily. "Laythorne hardly speaks, and the fellows look as if I had committed a murder; and it's just the same in the town. I'm sick of it. I wish I'd been drowned myself."

"Pooh!" said Dick; "you're talking rubbish. I'm ashamed of you, Jim, 'pon my word. I thought you had more grit. I'm sure no one could have been kinder than Laythorne; and as for the fellows--why, half of them think you're a greater hero than Nelson. You should hear 'em talk!"

"I've a good mind to get a berth on board ship," said Jim gloomily.

"What? and leave your mother and sister? Well you're a bigger coward than I ever took you for, Jim Hartland!"

This was the first unpleasantness that had occurred between the two chums; but Dick was in dead earnest and did not mince his words. Better balanced than Jim, he took a more sensible view of things. He admitted they had acted foolishly, and without thought; but they had done their best, Jim especially, to remedy the mistake. They bitterly regretted not being able to rescue their companion, but to Dick's mind this was no reason why they should spoil their own lives.

It is likely enough that Jim would have come round to this view, but for an unexpected event which revived the interest in Braithwaite's death.

One evening he had gone as usual into the shop directly after tea. Mr. Broad was absent when the papers arrived, so that Jim, after arranging the bundle, had a few minutes to spare.

Opening one of the papers, he saw in big type--"The Gayton Scholarship." His heart beat fast, and for a second or two he dared not look farther. Then with feverish anxiety he read the paragraph at a glance, and stood leaning over the counter like one dazed. Was it possible? Could it be really true? Surely there must be some mistake! Half mechanically his eves wandered over the words again, but with the same result.

This is the announcement as it appeared in _The Beauleigh Evening News_:--

"THE GAYTON SCHOLARSHIP.--The result of the examination for the Gayton Scholarship is now to hand. Forty-five candidates, the cream of the elementary schools, were examined, and we give below the names of the six highest, with the number of marks obtained by each out of a possible thousand:--

CANDIDATE. SCHOOL. MARKS.

Braithwaite, Percy . . . . Deanery . . . . . . . 871
Temple, Hugh . . . . . . . St. Paul's . . . . . 868
Carter, Robert . . . . . . Bath Street Board . . 839
Boden, Richard . . . . . . Deanery . . . . . . . 810
Jones, Samuel . . . . . . Royal British . . . . 750
Morris, William Charles . Somerton Board . . . 716

The honour of winning the scholarship thus goes to the Deanery School; but, unhappily, the successful candidate cannot take advantage of his victory. Our readers will, no doubt, remember the sad accident which recently occurred at the Old Fort, in which Percy Braithwaite lost his life. Great sympathy is felt for the sorrowing parents. It is sad to think of the early termination to what evidently might have been a distinguished career. The scholarship will therefore be awarded to the candidate next on the list, Hugh Temple of St. Paul's, who, it will be noticed, is only three marks behind the leader."

At first, Jim could think of nothing but the blow to his own pride. Most of the Deanery boys fully expected him to win the scholarship; they had coupled his name with it as far back as the cricket match for the Challenge Shield; they had looked up to him as their champion. And now the list was out, and he was not even in the first six!

I am sorry to admit it, but the truth must be told. Jim fairly broke down. He was angry, mortified, and ashamed. He felt the blow with bitter humiliation, and while doing his round that evening he had not the courage to look any one in the face. It seemed as if all the town must be jeering at him as a dead failure.

He could have yielded pride of place to Temple, but to be beaten by Braithwaite, and even by the light-hearted Angel! This was where the sting lay, because, knowing the extent of their abilities, he felt that he was far superior to them.

Of course, he had had hard lines in his father's death, in the necessity for finding work, and again in his mother's illness; but he could not tell all the world that. The Deanery fellows bothered little about his misfortunes; in their eyes the thing would be simple enough: he had failed even to get into the first six, and there was an end of it.

When he got home that night, he said nothing of the news; so that his mother, who rarely bought a paper, did not know that the list was out.

"She will know soon enough," he thought bitterly, "and on Sunday I shall have to tell Susie."

*CHAPTER X.*

*GOING DOWN HILL.*

Nowhere was the result of the examination received with greater surprise than at the Deanery School. It is safe to say that every boy looked twice at the published list before admitting Jim Hartland's name was not there.

On the following morning the boys of the upper classes, gathering together in the playground, discussed the matter excitedly.

"It's just what I've always said," exclaimed Simpson; "the chap's no better than the rest of us. Just because he can play cricket a bit, we put him on the top of a monument, and now, down he comes--flop!"

"Well, you needn't be afraid of tumbling," laughed little Macdonald, "because you'll never be put on the top of anything. You're always having a dig at Hartland, because he wouldn't have you in the cricket eleven."

"Well said, Alec!" cried the Angel. "That's the truth. Now look at me. I came out fourth."

"So you did!"

"Good old Angel!"

"You'll be first another time!"

"Oh, what rot!" exclaimed Dick. "Can't you let a fellow speak? What I want to say is that Jim Hartland's twice as good as me."

"He didn't make much show, anyhow," growled Simpson.

"No, he didn't. And why? Because, when his father was drowned, he went to work to help his mother. If it hadn't been for that, he'd have won the 'Gayton' easily."

"Well, he lost it!" growled Simpson; "and through him the Deanery lost it, too!"

"How's that?"

"How's that! Why, wasn't it through his bounce that Dandy Braithwaite got drowned?"

"Don't listen to him, Angel," said Macdonald, for Dick had doubled up his fists, and his eyes were flashing fire.

"Pooh!" said Simpson. "I don't care; everybody knows it's true."

"He owned as much as that himself," chimed in Archer, who owed Jim a grudge.

"Perhaps you think he wanted Braithwaite to get drowned," exclaimed Dick sarcastically, "and that he and I put up the little job between us?"

"I'm not saying anything against you," replied Simpson; "but I do say it's Hartland's fault we lost the 'Gayton,' and you can take it how you like."

This was the view held by many of the Deanery boys, who were very sore that the scholarship had gone to St. Paul's. Thus the subject of the tragedy was brought to the front again, and during the interval at morning school Jim could not help overhearing some of the remarks. Angry and miserable, he went to a corner of the playground, where Dick followed him.

"Look here, Jim," said the Angel cheerily; "don't mope about the 'Gayton.' We've all seen the list, of course, and I'm awfully sorry you aren't in it. It's too ridiculous putting me above you. I know that, and so do the others. It's like turning you out of the eleven to put Simpson in; but buck up, old chap--you'll soon get over it."

"I wasn't thinking about you, Dicky," replied his chum. "I'm jolly glad you're high up."

"What are you looking so miserable about, then?"

"Oh, hang it all!" cried Jim excitedly; "can't you hear what the fellows are saying? They look at me as black as thunder!"

"Let 'em," rejoined the Angel serenely; "that won't hurt you."

"Oh," said Jim, jerking himself away savagely, "it's easy for you to talk! I wish the place was at the bottom of the sea!"

"I don't!" replied Dick. "My mac's worn out, and I shan't get another this side of Christmas. Here's Macdonald coming; don't eat him."

"I say, Hartland," began Alec, who was as red as a turkey-cock, "I'm awfully sorry you didn't get the 'Gayton.' I know from what the Angel has said that you've had jolly hard lines."

"Thanks!" growled Jim. "But I wonder you aren't afraid to be seen speaking to me."

"I wish you didn't feel so cut up about it," returned Macdonald, ignoring Jim's surliness. "You're looking at it through magnifying glasses."

Unfortunately Jim did feel _cut up_, and by continual brooding made himself more and more miserable. From this time, I fear, he began to go slowly down hill, and the only gleam of good feeling he displayed was with regard to his mother and Susie.

"I'm very sorry, my boy," said his mother, when he told her; "and yet I shall never think of this scholarship without feeling proud of you. I know you had a good chance of winning it, and threw it away for the sake of helping me."

"No, no, mother," cried the boy cheerfully; "you mustn't look at it that way. I mightn't have won the scholarship at all; and anyhow, I couldn't have accepted it."

On Sunday, when at the hospital, he talked to Susie much in the same way, making light of his disappointment so successfully that the girl was quite deceived.

At school, however, he was very different, becoming surly and morose, and making enemies of the boys who would willingly have remained his friends.

Mr. Broad, too, noticed his altered manner; but knowing the circumstances, he said nothing, thinking the trouble would soon blow over; besides, Jim did not neglect his work. He was always punctual, and had such a quick grasp of his duties that he saved his employer a great deal of labour.

His usefulness in the shop led Mr. Broad to engage the services of a smaller boy for the evening round, while Jim was promoted to the dignity of serving behind the counter. This made him later at night, but he generally found an opportunity of doing his lessons before going home. His wages were raised to six shillings a week, and there was some talk of his going into the business altogether when he left school.

"Keep steady, my boy," said his employer, "learn all you can here, and there is no reason why you should not get on well."

Unfortunately Jim had drifted away from his schoolmates, seeing little even of Dick. To a certain extent this was inevitable, but Dick soon discovered that his old chum was beginning to lose pleasure in his company.

The truth was that Jim had picked up some new friends, with whom he knew quite well that Dick would have nothing to do. He himself was a little ashamed of them, but he eased his conscience by saying he must have some one to talk to. One night on leaving the shop he found the Angel outside.

"Hullo, Dick," he said; "anything wrong?"

"Oh no. I had an hour to spare, so I thought I'd come and meet you--that's all. We haven't seen much of each other lately."

"That isn't my fault."

"No; I'm not blaming you. I was awfully disappointed last night, though."

Jim's face became red.

"How is that?" he asked.

"Oh, I came round last night just in time to see you going off with Curly Peters and his chum."

"Why shouldn't I? What's the matter with Curly?"

"Oh, nothing!" replied Dick airily--"only he's a foul-mouthed little blackguard. Perhaps you'll take him with you on Sunday to see Susie?"

That shot struck home, and Jim winced, but he answered sneeringly,--

"You'll be getting another nickname soon: they'll be calling you the Saint."

"They might do worse," replied Dick cheerfully. "Anyhow, I'd make a cleaner saint than Curly."

"That's right!" exclaimed Jim, trying to work himself into a passion; "you're like all the rest. Just because the chap's poor and has no friends you're down on him. I've been through it myself."

The Angel laughed genially.

"There's something in that," he agreed. "You see, we Baxter's Court millionaires"--Dick lived in a tiny house in Baxter's Court--"don't care much to mix up with poor people. But Curly has a few extra points in his favour. He's dirty, he loafs about the town cadging for coppers instead of going to work, he thinks it big to swear, and I don't know that he's over honest."

"Well, he hasn't asked for your company," said Jim sullenly.

"No," replied the Angel with a smile; "perhaps that's why I'm prejudiced against him. And now let's talk about something else. How's Susie?"

"Better," said Jim, his face brightening. "The doctor says he is more than satisfied."

Let me hasten to place something to the credit side of Jim's account. Whatever evil habits he might have fallen into, he was a good brother. At every opportunity he visited the hospital to cheer his sister. With her he was always kind and bright and cheerful. For her sake he denied himself many little pleasures, saving up his odd coppers in order to buy some little present that would please and delight her.

As for Susie, she thought there was no one like her brother; to her he was the one hero in the world, followed, though at a long distance, by Dick.

On the subject of Susie, therefore, the boys could talk without restraint; but when that was exhausted they became silent, both vaguely realizing that, in some strange way, a barrier was rising up between them, and that the good old times were gradually disappearing.

Both were sorry; yet the mischief appeared unavoidable. Dick tried hard to restore matters to their former footing. He was really fond of Jim, and could not see him drift without an effort to check him. Frequently he waited outside the shop till his chum left, thinking to entice him away from his fresh associates.

One night as they walked away together Curly Peters came towards them.

"You aren't going to stop, are you?" asked Dick anxiously.

"Why not? D'you think he'll give us the plague?"

"Oh, well," said Dick, "I'm off. I'd be ashamed to be seen speaking to him."

Now this was an unfortunate remark, as it reminded Jim of an incident which occurred only the previous evening. Mr. Broad, coming into the shop unexpectedly, had seen Peters slinking out.

"What did that customer want, Hartland?" he asked sharply.

Jim felt cornered for a moment, but replied steadily,--

"He wanted to know if there was a chance of getting a paper job."

This was a lie; but I warned you Jim had sadly deteriorated, and he dared not tell his master that the boy was his friend.

Thinking of this, he turned on Dick savagely, saying,--

"He's good enough for me if he isn't for you."

"All right," exclaimed Dick; "every one to his taste. Some people I know have a lot of taste--all bad. Good-night, old man. Hope you'll have a bath when you get home."

"My stars!" cried Curly, as Dick went off; "ain't we getting proud? Washing and charing must be goin' up. It ought to make you feel taller, Jimmy, talking to a toff like that."

"Keep your chaff to yourself," said Jim crossly. "Dick Boden's a heap better than you or me."

Curly opened his eyes wide, but being a wise youth in his generation, and having a particular object in view, he let the subject drop.

"You couldn't lend me another sixpence, Jimmy, I suppose?" he said after a time.

"No," said Jim shortly, "I couldn't; and what's more, I'd like the last one back."

"You shall have it in a few days, but I've been awfully unlucky lately. I'll pay you back, never fear. I wouldn't like you to have to borrow from the old man's till; it's dangerous."

"Borrow from the till? What do you mean?"

"Nothin'; only I once knew a feller who did that. When he wanted any money he used to take it from the till, and pay it back Saturday nights."

"Why, he was just a common thief!" exclaimed Jim scornfully. "I'd rather starve than do that."

"Of course you would," said Curly approvingly, "and so would I. Let us be honest if we are poor; that's my motto. But it's hard when a chap's starvin', you know. Where are you goin'?"

"Home," said Jim. "I'm tired."

"All right. I'll pay you that tanner soon. Wouldn't it be a lark to march into the shop and ask the boss for my friend, Jim Hartland?"

"I don't think you'd better," said Jim. "He mightn't like it."

"What did he say last night, then?"

"Oh, well, you see," replied Jim hesitatingly, "I didn't tell him. And I say, Curly, you'd better give me the sixpence in the street."

"All right," replied Curly; "I'll remember." Then himself he added, "Well, he is a blessed mug, and mistake. One of the regular old-fashioned sort."

*CHAPTER XI.*

*IS JIM A THIEF?*

Three weeks after the conversation recorded in our last chapter, Mr. Broad wished Jim good-night, closed the shop door, and returned to his desk. As a rule he was a cheery, good-humoured man, easy-going, and with an eye for the bright side of things.

On this particular evening he appeared moody and unsettled, and quite unable to look through the pile of books which lay on the desk. Presently, leaving his chair, he walked up and down the shop.

"I can't believe it," he said half aloud. "I don't wish to believe it. The boy has always seemed as honest as the day. I must have made a mistake." And his face brightened. Then it clouded again, and he went on, "Why should I beat about the bush instead of going straight to the point? I know I am not mistaken. Some one stole a florin from the till last night, and Hartland must have been the thief."

For some time past Mr. Broad had had a vague suspicion that he was being robbed--not on a large scale, and not regularly; but now and again he fancied a piece of silver or a few coppers disappeared.

The incident which converted his suspicion into certainty was this. On the previous night he had left the shop with a friend. Before going, he placed a florin, the price of an article just sold, in the till. On his return the florin was gone, and, according to Jim's own words, no customer had entered the shop.

It was very perplexing, but Mr. Broad did not like to tax the boy with theft, and rather foolishly made no further remark. It was just possible, he told himself, that he only _intended_ to put the florin in the till, but had really slipped it into his pocket. One thing he knew--that after going out he had changed a florin in the town.

However, the subject worried him a good deal, especially as, on sober reflection, he felt convinced that the coin had been left in the shop.

"I hate to do it," he muttered, "but it will be better even for the boy's own sake. A sharp fright may do him good and teach him a useful lesson. If he isn't found out now he is pretty certain to go from bad to worse. It's an awful pity, too. He's a smart lad, and ought to do well; but I shall never feel able to trust him again, and I shan't feel justified in recommending him to any one else."

The shopkeeper kept his suspicions to himself, saying nothing even to his wife. He had watched Jim closely, however, while affecting to be busy in another part of the shop. Nothing resulted from this amateur detective work, but Mr. Broad noticed that several times during the evening Jim cast glances toward the door.

This certainly seemed rather odd, but it was no proof of guilt; and the stationer concluded his best plan was to lay a trap for Jim, and then go off the premises, leaving him a clear field.

The opportunity came the next day when most of the shops closed early. Mr. Broad was compelled to keep open because of the evening papers; but as soon as they were dispatched, the gas was lowered, and there was nothing to do beyond waiting for the errand-boy's return. As a rule the master did this himself, and Jim had an hour or two off.

On this particular evening, however, Mr. Broad said, "Hartland, I am going out, so you must stay till I return."

"Very good, sir," replied Jim, who really thought it was very bad, for he had promised to meet Curly Peters at the bottom of the street.

Mr. Broad went round the shop, turned down the lights, except the one over the desk, and went out, saying,--

"If I am not here by half-past nine, turn the gas off at the meter, lock the door, and bring the keys to my house. Most likely though I shall be back."

"Yes, sir," said Jim, who earnestly hoped he would.

"Upon my word," muttered Mr. Broad to himself, as he stepped into the street, "this business is horrible. I feel almost as if I were committing some terrible crime. But, after all, it will be a warning to him. Some men would have him packed off to jail, and then he could never hold his head up again."

He pulled out his watch and looked at the time.

"I'll just run down and have a gossip at the club," said he. "I feel as nervous as if I had robbed the till myself.---Bless my soul, boy, why don't you look where you are going?"

"Awfully sorry, sir," said the boy, who was no other than our lively friend, Dick Boden. "I hope you aren't hurt?"

"No; but you startled me. You might have been a policeman, you know, or--or--Dear me, my nerves are in an extraordinary state!"

"Funny old gent," thought Dick; and then, stealing a second look at him, he said to himself, "Why, it's Mr. Broad. It's no use waiting for Jim, then. He has to mind the shop."

Remembering that it was early closing day, he had run up directly his lessons were finished, thinking he might catch Jim and induce him to go for a good game. He went very rarely now, but he had not quite abandoned the hope of rescuing Jim from the clutches of his new friends, who, according to some of the boys, were doing him more harm than good. Indeed, there were some curious tales floating about which made Dick extremely anxious on his friend's account.

"I've half a mind to call at the shop and ask him when he'll be off duty," he thought. "Perhaps his master will be coming back in a few minutes."

He still stood hesitating on the pavement, when he suddenly caught sight of a little by-play which turned his thoughts in another direction.

"I wonder," he muttered, "what game those chaps are up to. No good, I'll be bound."

A few paces off he saw Curly Peters and his mate gazing after the worthy stationer, and presently they began talking together very earnestly. Dick could not hear what passed, but he felt sure they were discussing some scheme with which Mr. Broad was connected.

Now, as a rule, the Angel took little interest in his neighbours' doings, but on this occasion he could not help watching closely.

"I mustn't let them see me, though," he muttered, and crossed to the other side of the road.

At last the two boys finished their conversation; and then, while Curly lounged about the pavement, his companion, whose name was Bryant, ran after Mr. Broad.

"Hum!" said Dick; "that's a queer start. I should like to watch this little game, yet I don't want to lose sight of Curly."

The whole affair was most perplexing; but in a few minutes Bryant returned, laughing and evidently well pleased. He said something to his companion, who nodded approvingly, and then strolled up the street.

"Going to call on Jim, I'll bet sixpence!" said Dick, who, by the way, never bet sixpence or any other sum of money in his life. "What an idiot he is not to drop 'em. Not much use in my going on, I suppose."

He has told me since that he had actually turned to go home, when a queer thing happened. The two boys had reached the shop, when Bryant slipped into a doorway adjoining the stationer's, and stood close against the wall as if not wishing to be seen. In this he was greatly helped by the fact of the building being in darkness.

Without any definite object Dick did the same thing on his side of the street.

"This is getting quite exciting," said Dick to himself. "Why did he slip in there, I wonder? Doesn't he want Jim to see him? But if not, why not? It doesn't seem very clear."

As soon as Bryant had disappeared, Curly sauntered carelessly past the shop window and back again. Then he looked up and down the street, which was now nearly empty, and, appearing satisfied, approached the door.

Dick judged that he whistled softly and received no answer. In a minute or two he whistled again, when the door was opened partly, and he appeared to be talking to some one inside.

"That must be Jim," thought Dick. "I suppose they are making some arrangement; but it's odd the other fellow doesn't show himself."

Presently Curly took what appeared to be a scrap of newspaper from his pocket, and in order to see it better, Jim came right outside. Then, almost imperceptibly, Curly began to edge away till he manoeuvred Jim from the doorway to the front of the shop. The movement was so natural and performed so dexterously that even the suspicious Dick thought nothing of it.

But the instant the coast was clear, a dark figure glided swiftly through the open door and disappeared in the shop. Dick rubbed his eyes and looked at Jim. His head was bent over the paper, and, whether by accident or design, Curly kept him engaged in animated conversation.

What was to be done? Should he rush over and give the alarm? For once in his life he could not decide what to do, and while he hesitated the opportunity was lost.

Jim was still talking earnestly when the dark figure reappeared in the doorway, stole away with cat-like stealth by the side of the wall, and vanished. The next moment some one coughed loudly; Jim looked up with a start, returned the paper to Curly, and, with a parting word, went back to the shop door. A dozen yards away Bryant waited for his companion. There was not sufficient light for Dick to see what took place, but in a minute or two Curly ran back quickly to where Jim was still standing.

This time Curly did not speak so quietly, and so Dick was able to hear brief snatches of the conversation, such as, "Awfully sorry--wouldn't do you--now we're square, aren't we?"

"Yes," replied Jim, slipping something into his pocket, "and it comes in very handy just now."

"All right," said Curly, walking away; and raising his voice, he added, "You'll be sure to come, won't you? We'll have a rattling good time. So long."

Dick was on the horns of a dilemma. He felt eager to tell his chum what he had seen, yet he had a vague idea that he ought to keep an eye on the other two.

"I'll follow them up," he said, "and then come back to meet Jim. Unless I've been dreaming with my eyes open, there's something very rotten in the state of Denmark."

Meanwhile, Jim remained at the door till the errand-boy returned, then he went in and sat down at the desk. He had finished his lessons, and was in the midst of a very exciting story, but somehow he did not find much pleasure in it.

As a matter of fact he was getting very tired of Curly Peters and Company. He knew quite well they were doing him no food. On more than one occasion they had forced him to lie to his employer and to do other things of which he was heartily ashamed.

"I've a good mind to cut the whole concern," said he, "make a clean breast of it to the gov'nor, and ask him to give me a fresh start. I really believe he would do it."

Then he turned to his book again, but it was useless trying to follow the fortunes of the hero; he was thinking all the time what a fool he had been in preferring Curly Peters to Dick Boden.

"The Angel's a little brick," he said to himself. "He's stuck to me like a leech, though I've snubbed him awfully. Never mind, Dicky; I'll make up for it, if you'll let me."

Presently he closed the book, got down from the desk, and went to the door, muttering, "I wish the gov'nor would make haste."

He little guessed the shame and agony which Mr. Broad's return would cause him.

*CHAPTER XII.*

*WHERE IS THE MISSING MONEY?*

"Hullo, Hartland! tired of waiting?"

"Rather, sir. I thought I would come outside for a breath of fresh air."

"Ah! Everything all right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any one been here?"

"Only Johnson."

Johnson was the boy who did the evening round.

"Just so.--Come inside, Farrant, will you?--Turn up the gas, Hartland. I want you to stay a few minutes longer."

"Yes, sir," replied Jim, who was getting his hat.

He thought his employer's manner a trifle strange, and rather wondered why Mr. Farrant, who was a frequent visitor, remained standing just inside the door. However, he turned the gas on full and waited.

"Sure no one has been here?" repeated the stationer.

"Quite sure, sir," answered Jim, who thought it was a very odd question.

"Then you haven't sold anything, or given change?"

"No," said Jim, who was beginning to feel a trifle uneasy, though he scarcely knew why.

"Hum," said his master; "that's satisfactory in one sense, at least. It leaves no room for mistakes." And going round the counter he opened the till.

One glance was sufficient, and in a loud voice he added, "Lock the door, Farrant, and bring me the key.--Hartland, come here."

"If he's guilty, he's a good actor," thought Mr. Farrant, who was watching the puzzled look on the boy's face.

"Count the money in the till, Hartland--it won't take a century to do," said Mr. Broad, who intended to be sarcastic.

"Fourpence ha'penny, sir," said Jim promptly.

Without a word the stationer drew a notebook from his pocket, opened it, and laid it on the table. On the top of the page was a circle with a star in the centre, drawn in ink. Underneath was written, "One florin, 1884. One shilling, 1885. One sixpence, 1861. Sevenpence ha'penny in coppers. Silver all marked as above."

"That," said Mr. Broad, speaking very slowly and gravely, "is the amount of money in the till when I left the shop. Here"--pointing to the few coppers--"is fourpence ha'penny. Where is the rest?"

Jim's face became white as death, and he trembled violently. Beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, a film gathered before his eyes, his throat was parched, and he could not utter a word.

"Come," repeated his master sternly; "I must have an answer to my question. Where is the missing money?"

"I don't know, sir," answered Jim huskily.

"That's rubbish. No one but you has been in the shop."

"Only Johnson."

"Was he near the till?"

"That is a foolish question," thought Mr. Farrant. "Of course he'll shift the blame to the errand-boy. Broad has given him a fine chance to wriggle out of it."

The same idea flashed through Jim's mind, but he rejected it scornfully.

"No," said he, with the utmost deliberation, "he did not go near the counter. I took the bag from him myself, and he went out again."

"Then, if you didn't steal the money, where is it?" asked the stationer testily. He was really a kind-hearted man, and the miserable business upset him terribly.

"Come, my boy," said Mr. Farrant; "this is a sad case, but you will do no good by denying your guilt. Better make a clean breast of it, and trust to your master's leniency."

Now if I have drawn anything like an accurate picture of James Hartland, you will not be surprised that this well-meant suggestion made him very angry. The blood rushed to his face, his eyes glowed, and, as Dicky would have said, "the monkey was up" with a vengeance.

"I don't know that it is any business of yours," he exclaimed. "I'm responsible to my master, and not to you," which was very rude, and very ill-advised.

"Oh, all right," said Mr. Farrant; "go your own way. You'll feel a trifle less high and mighty when you've been in prison a week or two."

"It will be an awful disgrace, Hartland. You'll be ruined for life," observed Mr. Broad. "Come, my boy, tell me the truth; I have no wish to be severe with you. Where is the money?"

"I haven't seen it," answered Jim sullenly.

"This isn't the first time, you know," continued his master. "I have missed money before when you were left in charge, but I did not like to be positive. Unfortunately for you, there can be no question about it this time. If you will confess, I will forgive you, for your mother's sake; if not, I must ask my friend to fetch a policeman."

The boy shuddered at this threat. He had a strong imagination, and he instantly conjured up the whole pitiful scene. He saw himself marched to the station, and brought up next morning before the magistrates. He pictured the grief and horror in his mother's face, and thought of Susie when she should hear of what had happened.

Mr. Broad understood what was passing through his mind, and said in an encouraging tone,--

"Come; which is it to be?"

"I really can't confess anything," cried Jim hopelessly. "I have not been near the till."

"Wouldn't it be as well to search him?" suggested Mr. Farrant. "Of course he may have got rid of it; but, on the other hand, it may be in his pockets--that is," he added blandly, "assuming he is guilty of the theft."

"That seems to be a very good idea," said the stationer.--"I suppose, Hartland, you have no objection to turning out your pockets? Of course if you are innocent there can't be any objection."

"No, sir," answered Jim eagerly. "You can search me as much as you like. Shall I take my coat off?"

"Yes," said his master, "do."

They found nothing beyond a handkerchief and a few odds and ends such as every schoolboy loves to carry; and a search of the trousers pockets only revealed a knife, a piece of tarred string, a wire puzzle, and a halfpenny, which might or might not have been taken from the till.

"Have you anything in your waistcoat pockets?" asked Mr. Broad.

"No," answered Jim promptly; "there's nothing--" He stopped suddenly, and his face turned very red.

"Well?" observed his master, and the boy felt how stern the voice had become.

"I forgot," he said; "there's a sixpenny piece, but it is my own."

Mr. Farrant smiled slightly, as the stationer, producing the coin, laid it on the counter.

"I notice that it is dated 1861," remarked he, "but that may be only a coincidence." Then he turned the coin over, and pointing to a spot at the back of the Queen's head, added sorrowfully, "This, however, is hardly a coincidence."

Jim's knees knocked together as he saw quite plainly the figure of a circle with a starred centre, similar to the one in the notebook. There could be no doubt that the coin was one of those which his master had marked.

"That settles it," remarked Mr. Farrant emphatically. "Come, Broad; you had better make short work of the matter. Give him two minutes, and if he doesn't own up, let me go for a policeman."

"I am afraid I must," said the stationer sadly.--"You see, Hartland, the thing's as plain as a pikestaff; and here," tapping the coin, "is the proof. You can't explain that away."

Jim felt that he was in a desperate situation, and he doubted if even the truth would save him now. Mr. Broad might believe the story--his friend certainly would not--but, after all, it would throw no real light on the mystery.

"Well," said his master, "are you going to confess that you took this sixpence from the till?"

"No," said Jim, "because it wouldn't be true."

"Good boy!" exclaimed Mr. Farrant sarcastically; "always stick to the truth!"

By this time even Mr. Broad was inclined to lose patience; but, controlling his temper, he said, "Perhaps you will tell me how it came to be in your possession?"

"I'll tell you all about it as far as I know, though I'm afraid it won't do much good. Some weeks ago I lent a boy sixpence. His name is Peters. This evening, while you were away, he called me to the door. He came to pay back the money he had borrowed, because I had asked him for it several times."

"Did he come into the shop?" interrupted Mr. Farrant sharply.

"No; we both stood talking outside. He took the sixpence from his pocket"--Jim was scarcely correct in this--"but we were so full of our talk that he forgot to give it to me. However, he ran back with it directly he remembered, and I put it in my pocket."

"Any one with him?" asked Mr. Farrant, who was drumming softly on the counter, and smiling at what he called a cock-and-bull story.

"No," answered Jim confidently; "he was by himself."

"What sort of chap is this Peters? Respectable?"

"Well, he's very poor, sir, so I suppose folks are down on him a bit."

"Rubbish! You're poor, aren't you? Nobody's 'down' on you! Would you take him home, now, if your mother was there?"

This was a poser; and Mr. Farrant, noticing Jim's perplexity, began quite a brilliant tune with his fingers.

"Better leave it to the police, Broad," he advised. "I daresay they'll be able to supply us with information concerning the other boy. We aren't likely to get anything satisfactory in this quarter."

In truth Jim's story did not go far toward clearing his character, and of this he was fully aware. Curly Peters had given him the sixpence, but, just as certainly, he had not entered the shop. The more Jim puzzled, the more mixed things became, until at length his brain was in a perfect whirl. Still he stuck stubbornly to the main points of his statement, from which he could not be turned either by threats or blandishments.

His employer implored him for the sake of his mother and sister to tell the truth, while Mr. Farrant drew a vivid word-picture of the disgrace and misery awaiting him; but to each of them he replied in the same terms.

"I did not steal the money!" he exclaimed; "and I have told you all I know."

Mr. Farrant ceased drumming. "I'm tired of this farce, Broad," he exclaimed, "and if you don't make an end one way or another, I'm off!"

"Wait five minutes longer," pleaded Jim's master. "Now, Hartland, here is your last chance." And he laid his watch on the counter. "Tell the whole truth, and I promise solemnly that nothing more shall be heard of the business. Beyond the three of us, no one shall be any the wiser. If you still remain obstinate at the end of five minutes, I shall place the matter in the hands of the police."

Jim is not likely ever to forget that tiny fraction of his life. His master stood by his side; Mr. Farrant seated himself on the counter; no one spoke, and the only sound to break the silence was the monotonous ticking of the watch.

Five minutes--and then? The boy dared not think of it. He was pale and deadly cold, but he tried to stand firm, to hold himself erect, so that his employer should not think he was afraid.

"Two minutes more," said the stationer gravely, and then--"One minute more. Now, Hartland, seize your chance before it is too late."

Mr. Farrant slid to the ground; evidently he had quite made up his mind how the affair would end. Mr. Broad took the watch from the counter, replaced it in his pocket, and waited for the boy to answer.

Jim looked helplessly from one to the other of the two men. What could he say? How could he prove his innocence? No magistrate would believe his story, and, as likely as not, Curly would deny it, in order to save himself. A boy of Curly's doubtful character was not likely to admit being in possession of a stolen sixpence.

"It is no good," said he wearily; "I have told the truth. I am not a thief, Mr. Broad. I have never stolen a ha'penny in my life, either from you or from any one else."

*CHAPTER XIII.*

*AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE.*

When Dick Boden set off after the two boys he had no definite object in view beyond keeping them in sight. As yet he did not quite grasp the meaning of what he had seen, though his suspicions were fully aroused.

Curly and his companion displayed no particular hurry in getting clear of the neighbourhood. They strolled along quietly, and without attracting attention, for the street was deserted, and the only light was that thrown out by the public lamps.

At the first corner they stopped a moment, and then, turning to the right, plunged into a narrow but busy street, much frequented by hawkers and all kinds of barrow-merchants. Quickening his steps, Dick followed, but they were already swallowed up by the throng of people.

In the middle of the road a policeman stood on point duty, and Dick felt a strong desire to accost him; but what could he say? He had really nothing to go on except his own suspicion that in some way the two boys had been up to mischief, but the officer was not likely to interfere on that account.

Putting this idea aside, Dick edged his way through the crowd, keeping a sharp lookout for his quarry. For some time he saw nothing of them, and began to fear they had dodged up one of the narrow courts, when he caught sight of them standing by a hand-cart piled with bananas.

"All ripe! all ripe!" the owner was shouting at the top of his voice. "Here you are! Two for three-ha'pence. The finest fruit in Beauleigh.--Out o' the way, matey, if you don't want to buy; you're keeping off good customers.--Sold again, and got the money! Come on; it's like giving 'em away at the price!"

"Let's have four," said Bryant, "and don't pick out all the little uns."

"Here ye are, sonny," cried the hawker, taking the three coppers; "we're in luck to-night. Sold again!"

Bryant shared the bananas with his companion, and both fell to without delay. Evidently they were in high spirits, and enjoying themselves thoroughly, only stopping in their feast to nudge each other playfully.

"It's wonderful how flush of money they seem!" thought Dick.

While he stood watching them his mind was busy recalling the events of the evening. He pieced them all together, and, as a result, made up a pretty correct picture.

"O my aunt!" said he, "I didn't think Curly was so cute! But the dodge seems plain enough now. While Curly was bamboozling Jim, the other slipped into the shop and emptied the till. Ah, ah, you artful dodgers; that accounts for the milk in the cocoanut!"

Suddenly his satisfied smile vanished, and a shiver of fear ran through him. Why had Curly gone back? And what had he given Jim? Was it possible that his old friend formed one of the gang? No, no; he would not believe that! Jim had acted foolishly, no doubt, in taking up with these fellows, but he was not dishonest. Besides, if he wished to rob his employer, it could be done in a much simpler way.

Yet what did Curly mean by being, "square"? and why had Jim said, "It comes in very handy just now"? Had he shared the plunder without knowing it? It seemed to Dick that fifty thousand bees were buzzing in his brain.

"Broad is sure to miss the money," he thought, "and, of course, he'll charge Jim with stealing it. I wish I knew what to do! If I run back to tell him, perhaps he'll think it's a pitched-up yarn. Hullo, they're moving again."

Having finished their bananas the two boys walked on slowly, stopping now and then to speak to an acquaintance or to look at the contents of the various barrows. They did not seem at all uneasy; only once, when a policeman came their way, they separated, Bryant stepping on to the pavement just in front of Dick. A few yards farther he was rejoined by Curly, who said something to his companion which Dick could not hear.

Presently they stopped outside a small tobacconist's shop. Dick did not care to approach too closely, but he got near enough to hear that they were discussing what to buy.

At last he heard Curly say, "Them's the ones in the corner."

Apparently the other boy raised some objection which made Curly angry.

"What are you frightened of?" he said savagely. "Think I'm on the cross? You change the bob, and we'll square up afterwards."

Bryant went to the door reluctantly, but, as if unable to make up his mind, returned and whispered something to his companion. A scornful laugh greeted his remark, and without further delay he entered the shop.

All this time Dick had stood a little distance off, thinking. By a lucky accident the boys had chosen the shop kept by a man named Martin, for whom Dick had occasionally done a few odd jobs.

"I'll tell Martin," said Dick to himself, "and ask his advice."

In a minute or two Bryant, still looking rather dissatisfied, came out with a small packet of cigarettes; and, standing in the doorway of an empty shop, he proceeded to share them with his companion.

This was Dick's opportunity, and, screening himself from their view by the aid of the passers-by, he slipped into the shop, which, save for the proprietor, was fortunately empty.

"Hullo, Dick; what is it?" said the man behind the counter. "You haven't taken to smoking, have you?"

"No," said Dick, who hardly knew how to begin his curious story.

"What is it then? Anything wrong at home?"

"No; we're all right, thanks. I say, Mr. Martin, what did that chap buy who was in here just now?"

"Packet of cigarettes," answered the man, looking in surprise at his questioner.

"Would you know him again?"

"Pick him out of a thousand, if you like."

"Did he give you a shilling?"

"Eh?" said Martin, opening the till hastily, and taking out the coin. "Is it bad?" And he rang it on the counter. "Sounds all right," he added with a sigh of relief, "and there doesn't seem anything the matter with it. But one is never safe with these young sharks."

He held the coin up to the light, turning it round and round, and examining it attentively.

"Good enough," he decided, and was about to put it back, when something again arrested his attention.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed, "some one has scratched a circle and star here. Looks like a private mark." And he handed it to Dick.

The boy was in such a state of excitement that he could hardly see. What was the meaning of this? Had Mr. Broad, suspecting something wrong, laid a trap for Jim? It seemed very much like it. But if he had marked one coin he had probably marked others.

The very notion made Dick shudder. He felt sure that Curly had passed some money to Jim. Suppose it happened to be marked too! "Good gracious!" he thought in despair; "they'll take him to prison like a common thief! The disgrace will kill his mother!"

Noticing the agitation which Dick could not conceal, the shopkeeper said,--

"What's it all about, Dicky? I hope you haven't got mixed up in anything wrong?"

"No," answered the boy. "But trust me; I'll tell you all about it to-morrow. I must be off now; and, I say, Mr. Martin, keep that shilling by itself, will you? I shouldn't be surprised if the police want to see it."

"All right, Dick. It shall be ready for them."

"Thank you," said Dick, and left the shop.

"I wonder now," mused the shopkeeper, "what the game is. Something queer, by the youngster's showing. But he's an honest little chap, and sharp as a knife. Well, I'll put the shilling away."

Looking round, he discovered an empty tobacco tin, in which he placed the coin, and then locked it up in one of the drawers.

"No doubt the youngster will be back again, presently," he said to himself, "and I shall hear what it's all about. It's very curious, anyhow."

Meanwhile Dick, hot and flustered, was threading his way through the side street. He was too excited to steer very cautiously, but, after numerous bumps and joltings, he found himself at the top, where the traffic was less dense.

"Hullo, Dick Boden; you ought to be home and abed! There's your mother down the road with a cane looking for you." And Curly Peters, who stood on the edge of the curb puffing away at a cigarette, laughed boisterously.

Dick did not answer, but, being afraid of arousing suspicion, he walked very leisurely till he had turned the corner and was out of sight. Then he ran at his topmost speed, reaching the stationer's shop breathless and exhausted. He was approaching the door to knock when he noticed, through the side window, that the shop was brilliantly lit.

"Broad must have returned," thought he, "and perhaps brought a policeman. I wonder if they are searching Jim."

He tried to peer in, but could see nothing. Then, crouching close to the door, he listened. All was still; he could hear no sound.

"I may as well knock," he thought, and had raised his hand to do so when a man inside began speaking. "That's Broad," said Dick to himself, and directly afterwards he heard his chum's voice. Then the key turned in the lock, the door was flung open, and Dick found himself face to face with Mr. Farrant.

"Hullo!" exclaimed the latter, who was just going for a policeman; "who's this?"

Dick was rather taken aback, but he answered boldly, "If you please, I want to see Mr. Broad."

"Come again in the morning; he is busy now."

"But I can't wait," pleaded Dick. "I must see him now; it's very important."

"Let him in, Farrant," said the stationer; "he may know something of this miserable business."

"Come along then," grumbled Farrant, pulling him roughly inside and shutting the door. "Now, what have you to say? Make haste with your yarn, whatever it is!"

Dick glanced around apprehensively, and felt relieved at finding no policeman in the shop. He smiled brightly at Jim, as if to say, "Cheer up, old chap; I'll soon get you out of this scrape!" and then walked over to Mr. Broad.

"I fancy I have seen you before," said that gentleman. "Aren't you one of Hartland's friends?"

"Yes, sir," replied Dick promptly; "Jim and I are old friends."

"Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Farrant, showing a sudden interest in the conversation; "is your name Peters?"

"No," replied Dick in surprise; "my name's Boden, but Peters has something to do with what I've come about.--Have you lost any money, Mr. Broad?"

"I've been robbed of some," answered Jim's employer sternly.

"Was there a shilling amongst it?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I'll tell you soon, sir," said Dick; "but I want to make sure of my ground first. I should like to ask if there was a circle with a starred centre scratched on it?"

"Yes," replied the stationer, now thoroughly interested--"the same mark as on the sixpence which has been found in your friend Hartland's pocket."

"I hope you don't think Jim a thief, sir. He wouldn't steal a pin."

"We aren't listening to testimonials of character," remarked Mr. Farrant dryly; "they can be left to the magistrates. But now, just tell us how you come to know anything about this business."