"You don't know what I mean. You don't think a common newsboy fit to a.s.sociate with on equal terms, do you?"

Robert Greve laughed.

"You are too high-toned, Harold," he said. "If he is a nice boy, I don't care what sort of business a friend of mine follows."

"Well, I do," snapped Harold, "and so does my mother. I don't believe in being friends with the ragtag and bobtail of society."

Luke Walton did not allow his feelings to be hurt by the decided rebuff he had received from Harold.

"I owe it to myself to act like a gentleman," he reflected. "If Harold doesn't choose to be polite, it is his lookout, not mine. He looks down upon me because I am a working boy. I don't mean always to be a newsboy or an errand boy. I shall work my way upwards as fast as I can, and, in time, I may come to fill a good place in society."

It will be seen that Luke was ambitious. He looked above and beyond the present, and determined to improve his social condition.

It was six o'clock when Harold ascended the steps of the mansion on Prairie Avenue. He had devoted the day to amus.e.m.e.nt, but had derived very little pleasure from the money he had expended. He had very little left of the five-dollar bill which he had first changed at the dime museum. It was not easy to say where his money had gone, but it had melted away, in one shape or another.

"I wonder whether Aunt Eliza has discovered her loss," thought Harold.

"I hope I shan't show any signs of nervousness when I meet her. I don't see how she can possibly suspect me. If anything is said about the lost pocketbook, I will try to throw suspicion on Luke Walton."

Harold did not stop to think how mean this would be.

Self-preservation, it has been said, is the first law of nature, and self-preservation required that he should avert suspicion from himself by any means in his power. He went into the house whistling, as if to show that his mind was quite free from care.

In the hall he met Felicie.

"What do you think has happened, Master Harold?" asked the French maid.

"I don't know, I'm sure."

"Your aunt has been robbed. Some money has been taken from her room."

CHAPTER x.x.x

LUKE WALTON IS SUSPECTED OF THEFT

Harold was prepared for the announcement, as he felt confident his aunt would soon discover her loss, but he felt a little nervous, nevertheless.

"You don't mean it?" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, in well-counterfeited, surprise.

"It's a fact."

"When did Aunt Eliza discover her loss, Felicie?"

"As soon as she got home. She went to her drawer to put back some money she had on hand, and found the pocketbook gone."

"Was there much money in it?"

"She doesn't say how much."

"Well," said Harold, thinking it time to carry on the programme he had determined upon, "I can't say I am surprised."

"You are not surprised!" repeated Felicie, slowly. "Why? Do you know anything about it?"

"Do I know anything about it?" said Harold, coloring. "What do you mean by that?"

"Because you say you are not surprised. I was surprised, and so was the old lady and your mother."

"You must be very stupid not to understand what I mean," said Harold, annoyed.

"Then I am very stupid, for I do not know at all why you are not surprised."

"I mean that the boy Aunt Eliza employs--that boy Luke has taken the money."

"Oh, you think the boy, Luke, has taken the money."

"Certainly! Why shouldn't he? He is a poor newsboy. It would be a great temptation to him. You know he is always shown into Aunt Eliza's sitting room, and is often there alone."

"That is true."

"And, of course, nothing is more natural than that he should take the money."

"But the drawer was locked."

"He had some keys in his pocket, very likely. Most boys have keys."

"Oh, most boys have keys. Have you, perhaps, keys, Master Harold?"

"It seems to me you are asking very foolish questions, Felicie. I have the key of my trunk."

"But do newsboys have trunks? Why should this boy, Luke, have keys? I do not see."

"Well, I'll go upstairs," said Harold, who was getting tired of the interview, and rather uneasy at Felicie's remarks and questions.

As Felicie had said, Mrs. Merton discovered her loss almost as soon as she came home. She had used but a small part of the money he took with her, and, not caring to carry it about with her, opened the drawer to replace it in the pocketbook.

To her surprise the pocketbook had disappeared.

Now, the contents of the pocketbook, though a very respectable sum, were not sufficient to put Mrs. Merton to any inconvenience. Still, no one likes to lose money, especially if there is reason to believe that it has been stolen, and Mrs. Merton felt annoyed. She drew out the drawer to its full extent, and examined it carefully in every part, but there was no trace of the morocco pocketbook.

She locked the door and went downstairs to her niece.

"What's the matter, Aunt Eliza?" asked Mrs. Tracy, seeing, at a glance, from her aunt's expression, that some thing had happened.

"There is a thief in the house!" said the old lady, abruptly.

"What!"