Besides this, there was another thought that troubled him.  When he obtained a place he could not expect to receive as much as he was now making from blacking boots,—­probably not more than three dollars a week,—­while his expenses without clothing would amount to four dollars.  To make up the deficiency he had confidently relied upon his savings, which would be sufficient to carry him along for a year, if necessary.  If he should not recover his money, he would be compelled to continue a boot-black for at least six months longer; and this was rather a discouraging reflection.  On the whole it is not to be wondered at that Dick felt unusually sober this evening, and that neither of the boys felt much like studying.

The two boys consulted as to whether it would be best to speak to Travis about it.  It was not altogether easy to decide.  Fosdick was opposed to it.

“It will only put him on his guard,” said he, “and I don’t see as it will do any good.  Of course he will deny it.  We’d better keep quiet, and watch him, and, by giving notice at the bank, we can make sure that he doesn’t get any money on it.  If he does present himself at the bank, they will know at once that he is a thief, and he can be arrested.”

This view seemed reasonable, and Dick resolved to adopt it.  On the whole, he began to think prospects were brighter than he had at first supposed, and his spirits rose a little.

“How’d he know I had any bank-book?  That’s what I can’t make out,” he said.

“Don’t you remember?” said Fosdick, after a moment’s thought, “we were speaking of our savings, two or three evenings since?”

“Yes,” said Dick.

“Our door was a little open at the time, and I heard somebody come upstairs, and stop a minute in front of it.  It must have been Jim Travis.  In that way he probably found out about your money, and took the opportunity to-day to get hold of it.”

This might or might not be the correct explanation.  At all events it seemed probable.

The boys were just on the point of going to bed, later in the evening, when a knock was heard at the door, and, to their no little surprise, their neighbor, Jim Travis, proved to be the caller.  He was a sallow-complexioned young man, with dark hair and bloodshot eyes.

He darted a quick glance from one to the other as he entered, which did not escape the boys’ notice.

“How are ye, to-night?” he said, sinking into one of the two chairs with which the room was scantily furnished.

“Jolly,” said Dick.  “How are you?”

“Tired as a dog,” was the reply.  “Hard work and poor pay; that’s the way with me.  I wanted to go to the theater, to-night, but I was hard up, and couldn’t raise the cash.”

Here he darted another quick glance at the boys; but neither betrayed anything.

“You don’t go out much, do you?” he said

“Not much,” said Fosdick.  “We spend our evenings in study.”