It was not until later
that she felt the shock of revulsion.
"It is my money!" cried David, speaking to Mrs. Braddock. "Every cent
of it! I--I know what you are thinking. You think I stole it." His
eyes were flashing and his chin was held high now. "I'll kill any one
who says I steal. I'd sooner commit murder a thousand times than to
steal."
"How did you--come by all that money?" asked Mrs. Braddock, more than
half convinced by his fervor.
"That's what I'd like to know," added her husband. "Here! Lemme take
that pocket-book."
David jerked his hand loose and abruptly thrust the purse into the
hand of the astonished Mrs. Braddock.
"Look at it," he cried passionately. "Open the purse. It's still in
the sealed envelope, just as my father left it when he went off to the
war the second time--after he was wounded. He left it with my mother
for me. No one has ever opened the package. It was in my mother's
trunk until she died. She wouldn't put it in a bank. My uncle Frank
never knew that she had it; he doesn't know that I have it now. But it
is mine. My father gave it to me when I was six years old.
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