Part 80

“Is it possible?” he exclaimed in as much grief as surprise, “Unhappy boy, how came you by this money in your pocket?”

“I don't know, sir,” returned Paul, his cheek alternately flushing and growing pale.

“I wish I could believe you,” said Mr. Danforth; “where have you put the other bills? Produce them, and I may overlook this first offense.”

“Indeed, sir,” said Paul, in great distress, “I have not the slightest knowledge of how this bill came into my pocket. I hope you will believe me, sir.”

“How can I? The money evidently did not go into your pocket without hands.”

A sudden thought came to Paul. “Dawkins,” said he, “did you put that money into my pocket?”

“What do you mean, sir?” returned Dawkins, haughtily. “Is it your intention to insult me?”

Dawkins could not prevent his face from flushing as he spoke, but this might easily be referred to a natural resentment of the imputation cast upon him.

“Paul,” said his employer, coldly, “you will not help your own cause by seeking to involve another. After what has happened you can hardly expect me to retain you in my employment. I will not make public your disgrace, nor will I inquire farther for the remainder of the money for which you have been willing to barter your integrity. I will pay your wages up to the end of this week, and----”

“Mr. Danforth,” said Paul, manfully, though the tears almost choked his utterance, “I am sorry that you have no better opinion of me. I do not want the balance of my wages. If I have taken so large a sum which did not belong to me, I have no claim to them. Good-morning, sir. Sometime I hope you will think better of me.”

Paul put on his coat, and taking his cap from the nail on which it hung, bowed respectfully to his employer and left the office.

Mr. Danforth looked after him, and seemed perplexed. Could Paul be guilty after all?

“I never could have suspected him if I had not this evidence in my hand,” said Mr. Danforth, to himself, fixing his eyes upon the bill which he had drawn from Paul's overcoat.

“Dawkins, did you observe whether Paul remained long in the office?” he asked.

“Longer than sufficient to lay the letters on the desk?”

“Yes, sir, I think he did.”

“Did you notice whether he went to his overcoat after coming out?”

“Yes, sir, he did,” said Dawkins, anxious to fix in Mr. Danforth's mind the impression of Paul's guilt.

“Then I am afraid it is true,” said his employer sadly. “And yet, what a fine, manly boy he is too. But it is a terrible fault.”

Mr. Danforth was essentially a kind-hearted man, and he cared much more for Paul's dereliction from honesty than for the loss of the money. Going home early to dinner, he communicated to his wife the unpleasant discovery which he had made respecting Paul.

Now, from the first, Paul had been a great favorite with Mrs. Danforth, and she scouted at the idea of his dishonesty.

“Depend upon it, Mr. Danforth,” she said decisively, “you have done the boy an injustice. I have some skill in reading faces, and I tell you that a boy with Paul Prescott's open, frank expression is incapable of such a crime.”

“So I should have said, my dear, but we men learn to be less trustful than you ladies, who stay at home and take rose-colored views of life. Unfortunately, we see too much of the dark side of human nature.”

“So that you conclude all to be dark.”

“Not so bad as that.”

“Tell me all the circumstances, and perhaps a woman's wit may help you.”

Mr. Danforth communicated all the details, with which the reader is already familiar.

“What sort of a boy is this Dawkins?” she asked, “Do you like him?”