``What I find is mine,'' he said to himself. ``Of course it is. Harry Walton deserves to lose his money.''
How should he dispose of it?
It has already been said that Luke was fond of new clothes. He wanted to re-establish his credit with Merrill, for he was in want of a new coat, and knew that it would be useless to order one unless he had some money to pay on account. He decided to use a part of Harrys' money for this purpose. He therefore put the pocketbook into his trunk, and carefully locked it. Then he went to bed.
Meanwhile, Harry reached Mr. Leavitt's, unconscious of the serious misfortune which had befallen him, and at ten o'clock took his lamp and went up to bed.
While he was undressing he felt in his pocket for his money, intending to lock it up in his trunk as usual. His dismay may be conceived when he could not find it.
Poor Harry sank into a chair with that sudden sinking of the heart which unlooked-for misfortune brings, and tried to think where he could have left the pocketbook, or how he could have lost it. He did not generally carry it round with him, but that evening he found himself under the necessity of buying a necktie at the store, and so had taken it from his trunk. Could he have left it on the counter? No; he distinctly remembered replacing it in his pocket. What could have become of it? He felt the need of consulting with somebody, and with his lamp in his hand went downstairs again.
``Are you sick, Harry?'' asked Mrs. Leavitt.
``You're looking dreadfully pale.''
``I've lost my pocketbook,'' said Harry. ``That is, I can't find it.''
``How much was there in it?'' asked his employer.
``Thirty-three dollars,'' answered Harry. ``It was all the money I had.''
``Whew!
that's a good deal of money to lose. I shouldn't want to lose so much myself.
When did you have it last?''
Harry told his story, Mr. Leavitt listening attentively.
``You are sure you didn't leave it at the store, on the counter? I left my wallet there one night.''
``I am certain I put it in my pocket.''
``And you came right home?''
``Yes.''
``Alone?''
``No;
Luke Harrison came with me.''
``What was he talking about?''
``He wanted me to join in a sleighing party of young folks.''
``What did you say?''
``I
said I couldn't afford it. Then he charged me with being a miser, as he often does. He left me at Deacon Brewster's. He said he must go back to the store that he had forgotten something.''
``There's something queer about this,'' said Mr. Leavitt, shrewdly. ``Do you want my advice?''
``Yes;
I wish you would advise me, for I don't know what to do.''
``Then go to the store at once. Ask, but without attracting any attention, if Luke came back there after leaving you. If you find that Luke's excuse was false, and that he did not go back, go at once to his boarding place, and ask him whether he saw you drop the pocketbook. You might have dropped it, and he picked it up. That will give him a chance to restore it.''
``Suppose he says no?''
``Then we must watch whether he seems flush of money for the next few days. But there will be time for that to-morrow.''
This seemed to Harry good advice. He put on his hat and coat, and retraced his steps to the store, carefully looking along the road to see if he could descry anything of the lost pocketbook.
``I
thought you went home, Harry,'' said Frank Heath.
``You see I am here again,'' said our hero, evading a reply. ``Is it late?''
Frank Heath took out his watch, for which he had recently traded, and announced that it was ten o'clock.
``Time to shut up shop,'' said Mr. Meade, the store keeper. ``You boys will have to adjourn till tomorrow.''
``Where's Luke Harrison?'' asked Frank Heath.
``Didn't he go out with you?''
``Yes;
but he left me some time ago. He came back here, didn't he?''
``No;
he hasn't been here since.''
``He spoke of coming,'' said Harry. ``He wanted me to join that sleighing party.''
``Are you going to?''
``I
can't afford it, Frank.''
``I
suppose I ought not to spend the money,'' said Frank Heath; ``but I'm always in for a good time. I guess I'll have to go.''
``Good-night, boys,'' said the storekeeper, significantly.
They took the hint and went out. Their way lay in different directions, and they parted company.
Luke Harrison boarded with a Mr. Glenham, a carpenter, and it was at his door that Harry knocked.
``Is Luke Harrison at home?'' he inquired of Mrs. Glenham, who opened the door.
``At home and abed, I reckon,'' she replied, looking surprised at his late call.
``I
would like to see him,'' said Harry.
``Can't you wait till to-morrow morning? I was just going to lock up for the night.''
``I
know it's late, Mrs. Glenham, but it is about a matter of importance that Iwish to see Luke. I won't stay but a minute.''
``Well, I suppose you can go up. His room is at the head of the stairs.''
Harry went upstairs and knocked. Ordinarily, Luke would have been asleep, for generally he sank to sleep five minutes after his head touched the pillow; but to-night the excitement of his dishonest intention kept him awake, and he started uneasily when he heard the knock at the door.
``Who's there?'' he called out from his bed.
``It's I -- Harry Walton.''
``I'm in bed,'' he answered.
``I
want to see you a minute, on a matter if importance,'' said Harry.
``Come to-morrow morning.''
``I
must see you now.''
``Oh, well, come in, if you must,'' said Luke, getting out of bed reluctantly, and admitting his unwelcome visitor.
