evening that he doesn't remember another such open winter along the
Lumano."

"Say, Ruthie, how does your Uncle Jabez treat you, now that you are a
bloated capitalist?" asked Helen, pinching her chum's arm.

"Oh, Helen! don't," objected Ruth. "I don't feel puffed up at all--only
vastly satisfied and content."

"Hear her! who wouldn't?" demanded Tom. "Five thousand dollars in
bank--and all you did was to use your wits to get it. We had just as good
a chance as you did to discover that necklace and cause the arrest of the
old Gypsy," and the young fellow laughed, his black eyes twinkling.

"I never shall feel as though the reward should all have been mine," Ruth
said, as Tom prepared to start the car.

"Pooh! I'd never worry over the possession of so much money," said Helen.
"Not I! What does it matter how you got it? But you don't tell us what
your Uncle Jabez thinks about it."

"I can't," responded Ruth, demurely.

"Why not?"

"Because Uncle Jabez has expressed no opinion--beyond his usual grunt. It
doesn't really matter how the dear man feels," pursued Ruth Fielding,
earnestly. "I know how _I_ feel about it. I am no longer a 'charity
child'----"