“He thinks he did.”
“He is mistaken,” said Andy. “He lost it in an automobile that took him on a rush run from Princeville across country to Macon. I was his chauffeur, and found it.”
“Where is the pocketbook?” inquired the lawyer eagerly. “Have you brought it with you?”
“No, sir; but I think I can get it.”
“We will make it richly worth your while,” said Mr. West.
“There is something I had better explain about it,” said Andy.
“Spent the two hundred dollars?” insinuated the lawyer, with an indulgent smile.
“Oh, no—the two hundred dollars is waiting for Mr. Webb to claim it with Mr. Dawson, the banker at Princeville. Let me tell you my story, Mr. West, and then you will understand better.”
Andy told his story. He had a surprised, but intent listener. When he had concluded, the lawyer shook his hand warmly.
“Young man, you are a good, honest young fellow, and you will not regret acting square in this affair. Mr. Webb did not get your postal card, because he is no longer located at Springfield. How far from here is the farm you spoke of where you left the pocketbook?”