“What name?”
“Guy—John Thomas,” replied the seasick runaway, who would have given his true name had not Bob pinched his arm just in time to prevent it.
“Guy John Thomas,” repeated the clerk, as he entered the name in his book. “Where to?”
“Chicago.”
“Eight dollars.”
Guy thrust his hand into the pocket of his trousers, and a look of blank amazement suddenly overspread his pale face. The pocket was empty. He felt in the other, and finally searched everywhere about his clothes, but nothing in the shape of a purse could be found.
“My gracious!” gasped Guy.
“What’s the matter?” asked his companion.
“Matter!” Guy almost shouted; “matter enough. I’ve lost my pocket-book.”
“No!” exclaimed Bob, looking surprised.