"Uncle Jacob meant us to do so. Before it is gone I shall probably find something to do, and then I may gradually be able to pay back the money." "In that case, Bert, I am afraid we must break into it to-morrow. Probably Mr. Jones can change it for us." So it happened the next evening that Bert, with the kerosene can in his hand, went to the store, entering, as already described, just as Percy left it with the bill which he had purloined on the impulse of the moment. "I would like two quarts of kerosene, Mr. Jones," said Bert, handing over the can. The proprietor went to one corner of the store to fill the can, and brought it back. "Please take your pay out of this," said Bert, handing him the twenty-dollar bill. Mr. Jones started in surprise, and his face darkened ominously. He scanned the desk on which he remembered placing his own twenty-dollar bill, and it was nowhere to be seen. "Why, you audacious young thief!" he exclaimed in a fury. "What do you mean?" demanded Bert angrily. "What do I mean?" gasped Jones. "You know what I mean well enough. I never knew such audacity." "Please explain yourself, Mr. Jones," said Bert with spirit. "I didn't come here to be insulted." "You are a hardened young reprobate! Do you mean to say you didn't steal this twenty-dollar bill from my desk, where I laid it five minutes since?" "I don't know anything about any twenty-dollar bill of yours, Mr. Jones. This money is mine, or rather my mother's, and I brought it with me from home." "Do you expect me to believe this bold falsehood, Bert Barton?" the store-keeper exploded wrathfully. "I don't expect you to believe any falsehood at all, Mr. Jones. Will you either change that bill or give it back to me?" "I will do neither." "Then, sir, it is you who are the thief." "You impudent young rascal, now I won't have any mercy on you. For your mother's sake, I might have done so, but as you persist in brazening out your guilt, I will see that you have a chance to repent. Here is the constable come in just at the right moment. Mr. Drake, please come here." A tall, pleasant-looking officer, who had just entered the store, approached the desk. "What can I do for you, Mr. Jones?" he asked. "Arrest this boy!" said Jones, pointing with flushed face at his young customer. "Arrest Bert Barton!" exclaimed Constable Drake, in amazement. "What on earth has he done?" "Stolen a twenty-dollar bill from my desk, and then presented it to me in payment for some kerosene." "The charge is false!" said Bert, his eyes glowing with indignation. "Hear him deny it!" said Jones, looking at the circle that had gathered around them. "I find it hard to credit your charge, Mr. Jones," replied the constable. "We all know Bert Barton, and I don't believe he would be guilty of theft." "I require you to arrest the boy!" persisted the store-keeper, stamping his foot in excitement. "Wait a moment! Did you see him take the bill?" "No," answered Jones reluctantly.