“Lay low, and wait till the whole thing comes out. When Sock discovers his loss, Jim will be on hand to tell him where his wallet is. Then we can up and tell all we know.”
“Good! There’s a jolly row coming!” said Wilkins, smacking his lips.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE MISSING WALLET IS FOUND.
Socrates Smith was, ordinarily, so careful of his money, that it was a very remarkable inadvertence to leave it on the bureau. Nor was it long before he ascertained his loss. He was sitting at his desk when his wife looked in at the door, and called for a small sum for some domestic expenditure.
With an ill grace—for Socrates hated to part with his money—he put his hand into the pocket where he usually kept his wallet.
“Really, Mrs. Smith,” he was saying, “it seems to me you are always wanting money—why, bless my soul!” and such an expression of consternation and dismay swept over his face, that his wife hurriedly inquired:
“What is the matter, Mr. Smith?”
“Matter enough!” he gasped. “My wallet is gone!”
“Gone!” echoed his wife, in alarm. “Where can you have left it?”