"Of course it is," said his wife. "You deserve to suffer loss."

"I will take it upstairs hereafter," said her husband, "especially," he added, jocularly, "if Philip is to be trusted to lock the front door."

Philip smiled, but his smile was not exactly an easy one, for he was every minute apprehensive that it would occur to his father to open the trunk and examine the contents. He did not want this to happen till he was out of the way, for it would be rather a trial to his nerves to hear the announcement made of the loss, while he knew that the missing bonds were concealed in his inside coat pocket.

Philip was in a hurry to see Congreve, and get rid of his troublesome deposit. He hurried through his breakfast, therefore, and rose from the table.

"You've eaten very little, Phil," said his mother.

"Oh, I'm not hungry," said Philip, carelessly. "I didn't get up early enough to raise an appet.i.te."

"You got up as early as usual," said his father.

"Perhaps reading in the evening didn't agree with me," replied Philip, smiling.

"Where are you going?" asked his mother.

"Just out for a walk."

"Will you call at the grocery store and tell them to send up a barrel of flour?"

"All right."

Usually Philip, who was far from obliging naturally, made a fuss when asked to do an errand, but now he spoke very good-humoredly. He was so anxious to get out of the house that he was ready to promise anything.

"I really think Philip is improving," said his mother, after he had gone out.

"There's some room for it," remarked his father, dryly.

Philip, as may be supposed, made his way as quickly as possible to the hotel. As he came up, he saw the one of whom he was in search--James Congreve--standing on the piazza, smoking a cigarette.

"Well?" he said, guessing something from the evident excitement of Philip's manner.

"Let us go up to your room, Congreve," said Phil.

"All right."

He led the way upstairs to the small room which he occupied as a bedroom, and Philip followed him in. The latter carefully closed the door.

"I've got 'em," he exclaimed, triumphantly.

"The bonds? You don't say!"

"As true as you stand there."

"Let me see them."

Philip drew the bonds from his pocket, and handed them to Congreve.

The latter said, joyfully:

"You're a trump, Phil!"

"Yes, I think I managed pretty well," said Phil, complacently.

"Tell me how you did it."

So Phil explained.

"You were in precious luck, I can tell you. I had no idea things would turn in your favor so. Let me see--here are two one-hundreds."

"Yes; that's what you said."

"True. Were there more in the trunk?"

"Yes; I heard father say there were a thousand dollars in bonds."

James Congreve's face was overspread by an expression of covetousness.

"It's a pity you didn't take more," he said.

"But what was the need of taking more? These will pay my debt to you."

"Of course. Still, it seemed such a good chance."

"You don't think I'm going to set up as a thief, do you, Congreve?"

asked Philip, in surprise.

"No, of course not. I didn't mean anything. Well, Phil, the sooner these are disposed of the better."

"You are going to attend to that?"

"Yes. I believe I will take the next train up to the city."

"When will you be back?"

"To-night. I will bring you the balance of the money--say, fifty dollars."

"There ought to be more than that for me."

"Oh, it will be all right! Only, you know, I will have to sell them below the market price, at some place where no questions are asked."

"I've no doubt you'll do the square thing," said Philip, who did not know that this statement of Congreve's was only a flimsy pretense to enable him to appropriate a larger share of the plunder, as it may fairly be called.

"I'll promise you fifty dollars, whatever the bonds bring," said Congreve.

"Thank you."