Of course, his last words were all Greek to Harry Leclair and his mother. The sick lad asked for an explanation, and without more ado Franklin told them of all that had happened.
"The rascals!" cried the sick boy. "But that's the way they all are—just as heartless and cruel as they can be. They ought all of them to be put in prison."
"There! there! Harry, don't excite yourself," put in Mrs. Leclair. "I am resolved that you shall not go back to work there. It is not fit."
"It's lucky I came here to-night," said Franklin, thoughtfully. "But, then, I don't know," he added, doubtfully.
"Why, of course it's lucky," said Harry. "You can now explain to Mr. Buckman—"
"Yes, but will he believe me?" He may say that Felter's and Nolan's words are as good as yours and mine. Those fellows may tell him that we are friends, and he may think we hatched this story of the knife being stolen up between us."
"That's so, I never thought of that," returned the sick boy, his face falling. "But I am telling the truth."
"I know you are, Harry, but that won't help matters. Of course Jackson will say he never saw the knife and lie his way out of it."
"Well, can't you do anything?"
"I don't know. I'll think it over. And in the
