“Where?” shouted his fellow club members.
“I d-d-don’t know,” faltered Easton. Breaking into tears he made a new search.
“That’s a hot way to carry money!” volunteered one boy. “Loose in your pocket!”
“It—it wasn’t loose,” explained Duke, his lips quivering. “It was in a purse.”
“Purse?” snapped another angry lad. “You ain’t got no purse.”
“It was my father’s,” explained the tearful Duke. “An’ it had ever’body’s name in it and what they paid and all the entries.”
Art and Connie were already searching the ground round about.
“Some of you kids has got it,” wailed Duke, the thought of a possible joke coming to him.
“Search me,” shouted a chorus of boys. Even the absurdity of searching a boy stripped of his clothes did not appeal to the disturbed president or the still sobbing treasurer. Connie began to laugh and then exclaimed:
“Mebbe it’s back where the scrap was.”