Clem’s eyes were on the book opened before him, but I doubt that he saw the words there. He was secretly at odds with himself. He had returned to the room determined to make no reference to the affair of the stolen money. It had not occurred to him that Jim had sought to protect Webb. It did not occur to him now, seriously. Webb had demanded more money, Jim had known about the twenty-two dollars and had yielded to a sudden temptation. That was how Clem figured it. The mere act of thievery didn’t seem so bad to him, nor did the loss of the money--if it proved a loss--trouble him at all. But he felt terribly injured, spiritually bruised, by the revelation that Jim could do so small and mean an act. He had, almost without realizing it, grown very fond of Jim, and now the discovery that the latter was not worthy of the affection wounded him sorely. But he had meant to keep all this to himself; Jim, he had thought, would be glad to say no more of the affair; and he would have done so if Jim had not made matters worse by attempting to shift the blame to Webb. That had turned Clem’s sorrow to disgust and, finally, to something close to anger. To him, accusing Webb was far worse than taking the money. The latter was capable of palliation if one granted sudden temptation, but to seek to clear himself at the expense of another, one who could not testify on his own behalf, was indefensible; it was the worst of all offenses to Clem’s eyes, it was poor sportsmanship! Jim’s voice broke the silence finally. It was harsh and strained, for he was trying desperately to hide his hurt, and it was so low that it scarcely carried across the table. “Clem,” he said, “are you thinking that I stole that money?” Clem looked up, his face oddly expressionless. “I thought we had agreed to leave that word out of it.” “What does it matter what you call it?” asked Jim, his voice trembling a trifle in spite of his efforts to keep it steady. “You are thinking it! You don’t dare look me in the face and deny it!” Clem frowned. “Let’s not be tiresome, Jim. It’s done. Let’s not say anything more about it.” There was another silence. Then: “All right,” said Jim. “I will never speak of it again--until you do.” The strained expression went out of his face, but it remained white and grim as he seated himself in his chair and took up his pen once more. Now there was no hesitation. The sprawling letters followed each other rapidly across the white sheet. “Friday,” he wrote; “Dear Father: I am sorry to have to ask you for money again but I must have twelve dollars within a few days. This is right important. I want you should take it out of my allowances for December, January and February, so I’m not asking anything extra. Please try hard to send me this twelve dollars just as soon as you get this letter. I’m not in trouble, so you don’t need to be worried any, and when I see you I’ll tell you what I have to have it for. I am well and getting along nicely--”