“Personally,” announced Art, “I’ve always been in for a single propeller machine.”
“Well,” conceded Alex with more interest, “a single propeller would cut down the cost. It’d save on shafting an’ motor connections. Say ’at the engine cost four hundred and ninety dollars, the propeller twenty-five, an’ everything else one hundred.”
“A hundred for a little silk an’ wire an’ a few sticks?” snorted Art. “What are you thinkin’ about?”
“Well,” went on Alex, “say it did. That’s six hundred an’ fifteen dollars. Let’s hear from the treasurer. What’s in the treasury, Duke?”
Treasurer Duncan Easton, at these words, gasped, grew redder and then made a wild scramble to locate his clothing.
“Who’s got my pants?” he yelled. “It’s all in my pants.”
“All that prize money?” shouted the president of the club. “That three dollars and eighty cents?”
The naked treasurer’s only response was a lunge into a heap of garments out of which he finally extracted the valuable trousers. There was a swift search of both pockets and then a scared face told the story.
“’Tain’t gone?” came anxiously from Connie.
“I had to bring it,” whimpered Treasurer Easton. “It was for the prizes. I’ve lost it.”