Fairfax was half bent over, and Robert, who was deeply incensed, threw himself from the upper berth, landing on the back of his roommate, who was borne to the floor, releasing the garment with a startled cry.
“What did you do that for?” he asked nervously.
“What business had you with my pocketbook, you thief?” demanded Robert sternly.
Mortimer Fairfax, who had supposed Robert to be fast asleep, saw that he was in a scrape, but he was a man fertile in expedients, and he instantly decided upon his course.
“What do you mean?” he inquired in a tone of innocent bewilderment.
“What do I mean?” retorted our hero. “I want to know what business you had with my pocketbook in your hand?”
“You don’t mean to say that I was meddling with your pocketbook?” said Fairfax with an air of surprise.
“That is exactly what I do say, Mr. Fairfax. If I hadn’t waked up just as I did, you would have had all my money, and I should have been penniless. That is the sort of fever and ague that troubles you, I suppose.”
“My young friend,” said Fairfax, “I am shocked at what you tell me. I do not blame you for accusing me. If I were in your place and you in mine, I should no doubt act in the same way. Yet I am entirely innocent, I can assure you.”
“It don’t look much like it,” Robert said, rather astonished at the man’s effrontery. “When I find you examining my pockets and taking out my pocketbook, it looks very much as if you were trying to rob me.”