Mr. Belding was not unmindful of his son's anxiety regarding the odd bank-note that Chet had taken over the counter in the jewelry store. Besides, Laura sat herself upon the arm of his big Morris chair after dinner that Monday evening, and said: "You know, dear Pa, Chet is a pretty good boy. And fifty dollars is much more money than he can afford to lose--all in one bunch." "Indeed?" said her father indignantly. "And how about me? With my expensive family, do you think I can afford to lose fifty dollars? And the boy is careless." "I deny it," said Laura briskly. "Chet! not careless?" "Only thoughtless." "What is the difference?" "Academic, or moral?" demanded Mother Wit, looking at him slyly. "Oh, well, it doesn't pay to split hairs with you," declared her father, pinching a warm cheek until it was rosier than ever. "But what's the big idea, as Chet himself would say?" "Why, now, Pa Belding----" "Out with it! What do you want me to do?" "I--I thought if you'd make Chet pay only half of the fifty dollars, that perhaps you lost----" "Well?" he growled, in apparent indignation still. "Why, I would pay the other twenty-five!" burst out Laura hurriedly. "Only you must promise not to tell Chet." "What do you mean? To pay half his fine?" "Well, you don't need to halloo so about it, Pa dear," she pouted. "I wouldn't let you!" "Oh, yes you would. You know it is going to be awfully hard on Chet to take that money out of the bank to pay you." "There, there!" said Mr. Belding gruffly. "We won't talk about it--yet. Perhaps we'll find the bank-note is all right." But he said afterward to his wife that evening: "What are we going to do with such children, Mother? You can't punish one without hurting the other right to the quick." "We have been blessed in our children, Henry," said Mrs. Belding proudly. "And--really--Chet should not be too much blamed." "There, there!" exclaimed her husband in a disgusted tone of voice. "You're every whit as bad as Laura." Mr. Monroe did not return to the bank for several days; and meanwhile other important and interesting things were happening. The three boys who seemed to have secret knowledge about the accident on Market Street refused to answer the questions of their girl friends as to the identity of the car that had run the victim down. "You are just the meanest boys!" flared out Bobby Hargrew, as they all trooped down to Lake Luna to take almost the last look at the roped-off arena before the carnival would twinkle its lights that evening at six o'clock. "I don't know, Bobby," drawled Chet. "I believe we really could be meaner if we tried." "No you couldn't!" snapped Clara Hargrew with finality. "Oh, girls!" gasped Laura suddenly, "tell me what this is coming up the hill? Or am I seeing something that you folks don't?" "Gee!" exclaimed the slangy Bobby, forgetting her indignation with Chet and the other boys. "Is it? Can it be?"