"And so he did," put in my uncle, glad to be able to speak a word for himself.
"Six thousand dollars!" ejaculated Mr. Banker. "Phew! but that's a large sum!"
"I know nothing of the money," I went on. "But I think his son took it, and I just told him so, and that made him mad."
"My son is no thief," stormed Mr. Stillwell.
"And neither is Robert Foster's son, I reckon," returned my friend. "I've knowed Luke all my life, and he's as straightforward a lad as one wants to meet. There's some mistake, Mr. Stillwell."
"No mistake at all; and unless the boy gives up what he took he shall go to prison."
"No, no; don't be too harsh!" cried Mr. Banker. "Remember he is your nephew."
"He is no longer any relation of mine! I've cast him off."
"You have, have you?" asked my friend, curiously.
"Yes, I have."
"Maybe you haven't any right to do it," went on Mr. Banker. "You've got his money in trust."
"Precious little of it."
"Yes? I reckon Robert Foster left quite a pile."
"No such thing."
"He was worth fifty or sixty thousand dollars."
