Toby tied up the court-plaster book again and restored it, with the scissors, to the table drawer. Then, actuated by what motive he scarcely knew, he slipped the bill and the telltale strip of yellow paper into an envelope and placed that in the drawer too. And after that he laced his fingers together behind his head and leaned back and frowned intently at the flickering gas-jet. That dollar bill had come into his possession just after his return from vacation. Who had paid it to him he couldn’t recall now. But he remembered perfectly discovering the tear in it and how, fearing it might increase if not mended, he had hit on the, to him, clever idea of patching it with a strip of court-plaster. It was, he reflected, rather odd that the only two pieces of money in the little box which he could have identified should both have come back to him! He no longer doubted that Frank Lamson had taken the little box and its contents from his bureau drawer, although he could not for the life of him find a satisfactory motive for the theft. Unless, and after all that was the most plausible theory, Frank had been pressed for money and Arnold had mentioned to him that Toby had a fund stowed away to buy hockey things. Wanting a better explanation, that must do, Toby told himself. The next question was what was to be done about it. Toby’s proof, while positive to him, might not seem so to others. If he accused Frank and demanded the restitution of the stolen money Frank would, probably, deny emphatically and indignantly. It would be his word against Frank’s, and Frank was fairly well-liked and popular. But then he wouldn’t make it public, in any case, and a popular verdict had nothing to do with the affair. What he wanted was only the restoration of his six dollars and a quarter and if Frank refused to give it back to him the matter would have to rest right there. Toby had no notion of making the affair known. But, he thought vindictively, whether Frank was willing to restore the money to him or wasn’t, he would have the satisfaction of telling Frank what he thought of him! To be able to tell Frank Lamson to his face that he was a thief was almost worth the loss of the money! He planned and replanned what he would say. Even if he didn’t intend to make the matter public there’d be no harm in threatening Frank with it. He could scare him, at least. Frank, of course, would bluster and try to laugh at him, but for once that sort of thing wouldn’t work. Toby had the upper hand. There was no studying done in Number 22 Whitson that evening. Nor was Toby disturbed again by visitors. He quite forgot his wish that Arnold would look him up. He forgot Arnold too. His mind was very busy planning how to wreak vengeance on Frank Lamson. He had not realized before to-night how thoroughly he hated that youth! CHAPTER XIV A QUESTION OF COLOR