Boarding schools -- Juvenile fiction; Hockey -- Juvenile fiction; Teenage boys -- Juvenile fiction
“I had it out last night,” he recalled. “I made change for Tommy
Lingard. But I didn’t take it away from the bureau and I remember
putting it right back again. At least, I’m _almost_ sure. I suppose I
might have dropped it in my pocket. But I had these clothes on――” He
ransacked his pockets, but without success. Then: “It _must_ be here,”
he muttered, and once more he searched the second drawer in the bureau,
again taking everything out and shaking it thoroughly. But there was
no box and no six dollars and a quarter! It was certainly puzzling!
To make certain that he had not put the contents of the box in his
pocket, he turned his pockets inside-out. Sixteen cents, mostly in
coppers, that crumpled dollar bill that Lingard had given him, a knife,
a bone button that belonged on his overcoat and a skate key emerged
from his trousers. His waistcoat yielded his memorandum-book and a
leather case containing a fountain pen and two pencils. From his coat
he extracted a handkerchief, a small roll of lead wire, the inch-long
remains of a third pencil, a letter from his mother which had reached
him that morning and the end of a roll of adhesive tape. That was all.
He restored the articles to his pockets, all save the letter and the
button, and sank dejectedly into the dilapidated arm-chair.
At that moment footsteps came along the hall and Arnold called: “Are
you there, Toby?”
“Yes,” was the dismal response. “Come on in.”
“It’s nearly twenty minutes past eleven――” began Arn, appearing in
the doorway. Then he caught sight of Toby’s dejected countenance and
stopped. “Hello, what’s the matter, Toby?”
“I can’t find my money.”
“Can’t find it? Where was it?”
“In the bureau drawer. It was in a little box and I hid it under some
things there. And now it’s gone!”
“Oh, feathers! Look again. How much was it?”
“I have looked again. There was six dollars and a quarter in it.”
Arn whistled expressively and viewed the still open drawer. “Let me
have a look,” he said. But he was no more successful than Toby had
been. “You probably put it somewhere else,” he suggested brightly.
“Have you looked in the other drawers?”
“I’ve looked everywhere,” answered Toby sadly. “It――it just isn’t
anywhere!”
“You don’t suppose――you don’t suppose any one’s taken it, do you?”
asked Arnold, frowning.
“No one knew it was there. Besides, no one ever comes in here except
Nellie.”
“Well, Nellie wouldn’t take it. She’s been goody here for years. So, if
no one took it, it must be around somewhere. Come on and let’s make a
thorough search, Toby.”
Ten minutes later they acknowledged defeat.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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