“Well, what are you staring at like a fool?” demanded his wife, who was not so situated that she could see the contents of the pocketbook.
“Look at this, Mrs. F.,” said her husband, in a hollow voice. “There’s no money here—only this piece of newspaper.”
“Well, well, of all the fools I ever saw you are about the most stupid!” ejaculated Mrs. Fox. “What you undertake you generally carry through, do you? After all the fuss you’ve brought down a pocketbook stuffed with waste paper.”
“I don’t understand it,” said Fox, his face assuming a look of perplexity. “Surely the boy told the truth when he said he had fifteen dollars.”
“Of course! Joel saw the money—a roll of bills, and saw him take them out of his pocketbook. He must have taken them out. Did you search all his pockets?”
“No; when I found the pocketbook I thought I was all right.”
“Just like a man!” retorted Mrs. Fox. “I’ll go up myself, and see if I can’t manage better than you.”
“Then you’d better take this wallet, and put it back in his pocket.”
“Give it to me, then.”
With a firm step Mrs. Fox took the candle, and took her turn in going up the attic stairs.