The Admiral quickly lost his compunctions of conscience about the trick he intended to play, which was to abstract the original sketch from Trixy's scrap-book during the clipping and pasting operations at the hotel, and substitute the imitation which he had made on the train. It had seemed an ungentlemanly and under-handed thing to do, much though he informed himself that the result would not injure the child in any way. Now, after what Trixy had told him about the condition of the Trewman finances, it would be a matter of absolute duty. Still more, he would fulfil the threat he had made to Jermyn, in case Jermyn's own sketch could not be recovered. He could not do it all at once, of course; Jermyn's pride would never allow it, but he would make the bride a handsome present in government bonds on her wedding day, and he would bequeath the remainder of the fifty thousand to her in his will, and should the fortunes of war or peace take Jermyn from earth before him, he would see that the remainder of the money should reach the widow at once. With such virtuous and unselfish resolves, what harm could there be in plundering a small girl's scrap-book? "Papa says," continued Trixy, "that there is no sense in worryin' about it, 'cause both of 'em are so fond of each other that they'd marry for love even if they had to starve afterward." "Hem! Quite likely. I suspect I would, if I were either of them." "Is that so? I must tell mamma that, 'cause p'raps it will keep her from worryin'. Papa says she worries too much about her friends' affairs." "Er--my dear, I wouldn't say anything about it, if I were you; for maybe your parents might not like to think that you had been repeating any of their conversation." It took considerable effort on the part of the Admiral to prevent any farther disclosures, and the old gentleman was very glad when he reached the hotel, and an examination of the pictorial papers gave the child something new to talk about. The Admiral had scissors and paste ready, and allowed Trixy to clip at will while he endeavored to rob the scrap-book. He lost no time in turning the pages, but a hasty examination failed to disclose the sketch which represented fifty thousand dollars, so he looked again, with extreme care. Toward the end his heart sank, and at the last page he uttered a low groan. "What's the matter?" asked Trixy, looking up from her work. "I beg a thousand pardons, my dear. I merely gave way, for an instant, to a bad habit into which old gentlemen sometimes fall. How are you getting along? Oh, you're finding a capital lot, aren't you? Don't you want to stop a moment or two, and show me your book?" Trixy began at once to turn the leaves, and to tell the story of each picture. The Admiral listened patiently as long as he could, but soon he said: "Won't you show me the one that is like the sketch I made on the train the day we returned from Washington?"