Mr. Wharton sat at dinner with his nephew and the housekeeper. He had been at home for some time, and of course on his arrival had been greeted with the news of our hero's perfidy. But, to the indignation of Mrs. Bradley and John, he was obstinately incredulous.
"There is some mistake, I am sure," he said. "Such a boy as Frank is incapable of stealing. You may be mistaken after all, John. Why did you not let him stay till I got back? I should like to have examined him myself."
"I was so angry with him for repaying your kindness in such a way that I instantly ordered him out of the house."
"I blame you, John, for your haste," said his uncle. "It was not just to the boy."
"I acted for the best, sir," he forced himself to say in a subdued tone.
"Young people are apt to be impetuous, and I excuse you; but you should have waited for my return. I will call at Gilbert & Mack's, and inquire of Frank himself what explanation he has to give."
"Of course, sir, you will do what you think proper," said his nephew.
This ended the conversation, and Mr. Wharton, according to his declared intention, went to Gilbert & Mack's. He returned disappointed with the information that our hero was no longer in the store.
I now return to Mr. Wharton at dinner.
"Here is a letter for you, sir," said the housekeeper. "It was brought by the postman this afternoon."
Mr. Wharton adjusted his spectacles and read as follows:
"No.— Wall Street.