CHAPTER XIV

BENSON MAKES A FIND

“Thought you’d like to know,” explained Dave, as he mechanically formed a snowball and threw it with precision at the head of a passing acquaintance.

“I’m glad you told me,” replied Wayne, frowning intently at the icy path they were traversing on the way from chapel to breakfast. “I think it’s a mean thing to do--tell the fellows about it when he hasn’t any proof against Gray.”

“Yes, I told him I thought he was making an ass of himself,” concurred Dave. “Benson isn’t a bad sort, you know, and I guess he really thinks that Gray took the money; and of course, if he thinks that----”

“But he has no business telling it about school,” declared Wayne hotly.

“No, he hasn’t. And I don’t believe that Gray took the old bill. He doesn’t seem that sort, you see. Any fellow that can fix up second-hand golf balls to look like new doesn’t steal. Why, Gray remolded those brand new balls of mine so that they are almost as good as they were before you lammed them with the fire shovel!”

“Of course, Gray isn’t a thief!” said Wayne. “I suppose the fact of the matter is that Benson just mislaid the money somewhere and can’t find it. But he has no right to say that Gray stole it. And I’m going to see him and tell him so.”

“Good boy! Hope we don’t have hominy this morning.”

Wayne found Benson in his room in Turner at noon. Benson was a jovial, good-natured chap whom Wayne knew but slightly. He was in the senior class, though he had occupied four years in getting there, and was somewhat of a leader among a coterie of idlers whose aim was to have as good a time as they could and to pass the examinations by as narrow a margin as was possible. But there was nothing vicious about Benson, and Wayne had always liked him as much as their slight friendship warranted.

“Say, Benson,” Wayne began, as he took a seat on the edge of the study table, “what’s this about your losing some money and suspecting Carl Gray of taking it?”

“Why, nothing to make a fuss about,” answered Benson. “It’s this way. You know you came and asked me if I had any golf balls that needed fixing up, and I said I had. And the next day this fellow Gray came and got them. And then a couple of weeks later he turned up one day when I was sitting here and brought them back. I’d just got a letter from my aunt, and the old lady had inclosed a two-dollar bill. That’s a way she has, bless her! The bill was laying on the table near you there. I was reading a library book--Ploetz’s Epitome of Universal History, it was--and so when Gray came in I just told him to lay the balls on the table and said I’d pay him the next day; I owed him sixty cents, and didn’t have any change. Gray said all right and he hoped I’d like the balls, and went out. Then afterward I looked for the bill and it wasn’t there. Maybe he didn’t take it,” concluded Benson good-naturedly, “but it wasn’t to be found, and so I naturally suspected him.”

“But Carl Gray isn’t a thief, confound you, Benson!”

“Well, I dare say he didn’t take it. It doesn’t matter. But you said yourself that he was awfully hard up for money, you know, Gordon; and I thought that perhaps he saw the bill and concluded he needed it more than I did.”

“Well, if you really think that Gray took the money I’ll pay it back to you myself. Only you’ve got to keep your mouth shut, Benson, and not go telling it all around school. Why, hang it, it’s a shame to say such a thing about a fellow unless you can prove it!”

“But I haven’t been telling it all around school,” said Benson indignantly. “I haven’t told a soul except Dick Barrow.”

“Well, Barrow’s told everybody else, I reckon. I learned it from Dave Merton this morning. You ought to know that if you tell a thing like that it’s sure to get around.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Gordon. I didn’t mean to be nasty about it. Besides, I don’t care about the two dollars. The dear old lady has sent another two since then--this very morning, in fact. I’ll tell the fellows that it’s all a lie; Barrow’s an awful liar anyhow, you know.”

“I think you’d ought to hunt for the money,” responded Wayne.

“Hunt? I have hunted, Gordon. I hunted all through the room the day it disappeared.”

“Well, I know that Gray didn’t steal it. But I’m going to pay it back to you.”

“No, you’re not, Gordon. I don’t want your money. If Gray didn’t take it you’ve no business paying it to me; and if he did take it, I don’t see where you come in. Hang it, I said I didn’t want the money. What’s the good of fussing about it?”

“Lots of good,” replied Wayne angrily. “You’ve spread a report that Carl Gray stole the money from you. You’d no business doing that, and you know it. I’m going to pay the two dollars to you so that you’ll shut up.”

“I’ve told you that I didn’t spread any report; I only told one fellow. And I had a right to tell him if I wanted to.”

“Why haven’t you accused Gray to his face?”

“I will if you send him up.”

“No, you won’t, either. You’ve done enough harm already with your old two-dollar bill. If you’re halfways decent you’ll try and stop the story from getting around any more.”

“I like your cheek, Gordon,” answered Benson, slamming a book down on the table. “If I’ve made a mistake in mentioning the thing to Barrow I’m sorry, and I’ll deny the story whenever I hear it; I can’t do any more than that, can I?”

“But what did you do it for?” insisted Wayne.

“Why, I’ve explained it, haven’t I? What’s the good of talking about it any more? If the money was stolen, it’s stolen, and----”

“It wasn’t stolen, and you know it, Benson.”

“I don’t know anything of the sort,” responded Benson, losing his temper. “I only know that you tell me Gray isn’t a thief; maybe he isn’t. But the money was there when he came in and it was gone when he went out; and he wanted money. If you’ve got anything else to say, say it to Gray.”

“You’re a coward, Benson, to make such a charge when you can’t----”

“Well, on my word! Say, you’d better get out of here, or----”

“Or what?” asked Wayne defiantly.

Benson restrained himself with an effort and walked to the window.

“If you don’t I will, and you can talk to the table.”

Wayne bit his lip, scowled at the motionless back of the other boy, and slid to the floor. At the door he hesitated with his hand on the knob. Then he returned to the middle of the study.

“I say, Benson, I’ll take that back, you know--what I just said. I reckon I’ve been acting like a cad ever since I came in; but you see Gray’s a friend of mine, and----”

“Oh, that’s all right; no harm done. Of course you’d feel mad about it; I dare say I would in your place. Sorry I ever opened my mouth on the subject.” Benson turned back toward the table and smiled good-humoredly. “If you hear the yarn again you might deny it for me. Will you? Just say I was lying, you know.”

“Perhaps you’ll find the money some time,” suggested Wayne.

“Eh? Find the money? Oh, of course I might. Still--” Benson paused and stared at Wayne. Then his face lighted up. “By Jove, Gordon, that’s a good idea! I’ll find it this evening!”

“Yes; it might have fallen into a drawer or somewhere like that, you know.”

“Of course it might. I--I dare say it fell back of the drawer. Perhaps it’s there now, Gordon.”

“Perhaps it is.”

Very seriously Benson, fumbling in his vest pocket, advanced to the table and pulled out the left-hand drawer. Then he thrust his hand into the aperture.

“Feel anything?” asked Wayne.

“Yes, I think I’ve got it.” He withdrew his hand and held up a two-dollar bill. “Isn’t that luck?”

“Yes indeed,” replied Wayne unsmilingly. “And I’m awfully glad you found it. I’ll tell Merton, and get him to tell the others.”

“I wish you would. And I’ll tell Barrow right away. I suppose I put it into the drawer and forgot about it, and then it got pushed out at the back. I should think that was the way it happened, eh?”

“Must be,” answered Wayne. “Well, I’ll get out now. Awfully much obliged to you, Benson, for--for hunting it. And I hope you’ll forget anything I said that wasn’t----”

“That’s all right, Gordon; forget it yourself. Glad you came in.”

Wayne hurried away to his room for a book, and on the way he pondered over Benson’s story. Of course, Benson might have been mistaken, but Wayne couldn’t blame him in his heart for suspecting Gray, under the circumstances. Had Gray really taken the money? He _was_ hard up at the time, undoubtedly; and perhaps the temptation had been too great for him. On the other hand, Carl Gray didn’t look like a fellow that would give way to temptation so easily, and he had kept every promise made to him. No, Gray hadn’t taken the money, Wayne concluded, and he hoped that the story would not reach his ears.

But it had. Gray was sitting in Wayne’s easy-chair talking to Don when Wayne reached the study, and after the latter had found his chemistry notebook Gray accompanied him across the yard. He broached the subject at once. He had heard the report in a roundabout way, and scarcely knew whether to credit it or not.

“I’m very sure, Gordon,” the boy declared, “that there wasn’t any money near me when I was in his room that time. I laid the golf balls on the table; I should have noticed a bill if it had been in sight. I didn’t take the money, Gordon, honestly! Won’t you go with me to see Benson? You could tell him that--that--well, you know me a little. Why, if the faculty hears of it----”

“Shut up!” cried Wayne, who for several minutes had been trying to interrupt the flow of the other’s nervous explanations and protestations. “The money wasn’t stolen. It’s been found. Benson found it himself. It had fallen out back of the table drawer. I was there when he found it.”

“Really?” cried Gray. “I--I’m awfully glad!”

“Benson didn’t mean the story to get out. You see, Gray, he thought he had left the money on the table, and when he went to look for it after you’d gone he couldn’t find it. He hunted everywhere--as he thought--and--and it didn’t turn up. And then he--he suspected you. I told him he was mistaken, and so we hunted some more, and he found it in the table, you know. I wouldn’t worry about it. I don’t believe many fellows heard it. And he’s going to tell all of them that the money is found, and so am I. He’s very sorry about it.”

“Well, I don’t suppose he was to blame. Of course, he--he didn’t know me very well. It was good of you to see him, awfully good. Why, perhaps if you hadn’t gone there he wouldn’t have found it.”

“Oh, yes, he would have, some time. But I’m glad I went. Well, here’s where I do stunts with chemistry.”

“You’re--you’re quite sure it was found, Gordon?” asked Gray as Wayne ran up the steps. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Of course it was found,” cried Wayne. “Didn’t I tell you that I saw Benson find it, you chump?” Gray turned away, apparently not quite convinced, and Wayne went on into the hall.

“My!” he muttered with a grin, “I’m getting to be an awful liar!” He frowned over some obtruding thought. Then he pushed open the recitation-room door with a violence that won him a scowl of annoyance from the professor.

“Nonsense!” he told himself, as he took his seat and opened his book; “Gray _didn’t_ take it!”