"He told me it cost six hundred
and fifty."
"Whoever told you that was trying to deceive you."
"You're sure about its being imitation, are you?"
"There can be no doubt about it."
"That's what I thought," muttered the old lady, her face pale and
rigid. "Is there anything to pay?"
"Oh, no; I am glad to be of service to you."
"Good-afternoon, then," said Deborah, abruptly, and she left the
store.
"Drive home, Abner, as quick as you can," she said.
"I haven't had any dinner," Abner remarked, "You said you'd get some
at the tavern."
"Did I? Well, drive over there. I'm not hungry myself, but I'll pay
for some dinner for you."
Poor Aunt Deborah! it was not the loss alone that troubled her,
though she was fond of money; but it was humiliating to think that
she had fallen such an easy prey to a designing adventurer. In her
present bitter mood, she would gladly have ridden fifty miles to see
the false Ferdinand hanged.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE PLOT AGAINST FLETCHER.
The intimacy between Harry and Oscar Vincent continued, and, as
during the former term, the latter volunteered to continue giving
French lessons to our hero. These were now partly of a
conversational character, and, as Harry was thoroughly in earnest, it
was not long before he was able to speak quite creditably.
About the first of November, Fitzgerald Fletcher left the Prescott
Academy, and returned to his home in Boston.
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