They suspended their musical efforts for the moment, stopped and faced him.
“Did we what?” asked one of them.
“Drop anything? let anything fall? lose anything out o’ your pockets?”
“What are you giving us, Chick? Is this one of your practical jokes?”
“Honest to goodness, no!” declared Chick. “I thought one o’ you might ’a’ dropped something; say like a—a pocketbook, or something like that.”
“Have we, boys? Has any one lost a pocketbook?”
The speaker faced his companions, each one of whom made immediate search of his pockets. Then, practically in unison, they declared that nothing of the kind had been lost.
“Why?” asked another one in the group. “Have you found a pocketbook?”
“No,” replied Chick truthfully, “I ain’t.”
“Then what in Sam Hill are you holding us up for, and scrapping the finest music that ever came from human throats?”