r feelings are.
My plan would have been to pick up the spoon incidentally, and admire
it. Then it would be easy to tell from the manner of Mr. Dugdale
whether he knew where it came from. I don't suppose you thought to do
anything like that, now?"

"Why, no," came the reply; "for you see, I'd laid out my plan of
campaign, and wanted to hew close to the line. The quickest way to
settle the whole matter, according to my calculations, was to just show
the old lady the spoon, and ask her if it was one of the missing ones.
But please get a move on you, Hugh. I'm fairly quivering with
suspense, because I somehow feel that we're on the verge of making a
big discovery."

"Perhaps we are," his chum told him, without any show of elation, "but
if it convicts Owen Dugdale of this thing, I'll be mighty sorry."

He led the way downstairs, and secured his cap from the rack. Then the
two lads hurried out of the front door, heading in the direction of the
big house where the old French lady lived, and which had lately been
turned into a sort of general headquarters for the Red Cross workers.
There some of the ladies of Scranton could be found day after day,
sewing and packing such garments as had been brought in, so that they
might be sent across the sea to the country where the brave poilus were
in the trenches defending their native land against the aggressor, and
slowly but surely pressing the Teutonic hosts back toward the border.

"I'm going to ask you a favor, Hugh," remarked Thad, presently, as they
drew near their intended destination.

"Go ahead and ask it, then," he was told.

"Let me run this little game, won't you, please--that is, I mean, allow
me to introduce the subject of souvenir spoons, and then show the old
lady the one I've got in my pocket right now?"

"That seems only fair," Hugh assured him. "Since you've taken it on
yourself to crib that spoon from Owen's den, it's up to you to do the
honors. I'll only be too glad to have you do most of the talking.
Yes, and about the time you flash that thing in front of her eyes I'll
be shivering for fear we learn the worst."

"Nothing like heroic treatment when you've got a cancer gnawing at your
vitals, as surgeons all say," remarked Thad, rather pompously. "I'm
aiming at the bull's-eye now, you understand. It's going to win or
lose, and no more tom-foolery about it."

When Hugh rang the door-bell, it was Sarah who answered, showing that
she had not lingere