A chorus of denials arose and Chesty sauntered over to get details. "W'y, you durned ol' Dutch Onion, you ain't gone an' lost him again, have you?"
"Ach! Dot leetle Kobold! Alvays ven I looks, like a flea he iss someveres else."
"How 'd you lose him?" demanded Chesty.
Dutch stole a look askance at Ned and turned on Chesty a reproachful face. He laid a glove on the edge of the table. "Dot's Fritz. I turn 'round, like dot," suiting action to word, in a complete turn, his right hand reaching out, taking up the glove and whirling it behind his back as he faced the table again. He looked at the empty spot with vast surprise, in delicious pantomime.
The glove, meanwhile, had fallen against the nose of Bruce, who sniffed at it and then picked it up and carried it to Slick behind the bar, returning to his resting place with the air of a duty accomplished.
Dutch continued to stare at the table for several seconds. Then he glanced around and called: "Fritz! Fritz! Komm' zu mir—und Fritz iss gone," he finished, turning to those at the table an expression of comical bewilderment. He took a couple of steps in the direction where he supposed the glove to be. Bruce was just lying down. Dutch looked more carefully, stooping to see along the floor. A light broke in on him. He straightened up and excitedly declared: "Yoost like dot! Yoost like der glove iss Fritz: I know ver he iss bud I can't see him."
"Dutch, come here." Ned's voice was stern and Dutch approached with hanging countenance. "Where was you when you 'turn 'round like dot'?" asked Ned.
"Only a minute, Ned; yoost a minute!"
"Where?"
"In Ike's I vas; yoost a minute."