“Oh, Lor’! you don’t say you lost your money?”
“Yes, I do!” said Riccabocca, glaring at her.
“Oh, dear! do you think there’s pickpockets in the car?” asked the old lady nervously.
“Very likely,” answered the professor tragically.
The good woman kept her hand in her pocket all the rest of the way, eyeing all her fellow passengers sharply.
But the professor guessed the truth. He had lost his wallet when he stumbled in the field. He was in a fever of impatience to return and hunt for it. Instead of going on to Chambersburg, he got out at the next station—five miles from Knoxville—and walked back on the railroad-track. So it happened that the telegram did no good.
The professor walked back to the hotel across the fields, hunting diligently, but saw nothing of the lost wallet. He entered the hotel, footsore, weary, and despondent. The first person he saw was Philip, sitting tranquilly in the office.
“Did you just come down from your room?” asked our hero coolly.
“I am a most unfortunate man!” sighed Riccabocca, sinking into a seat.
“What’s the matter?”