"Yes, it was," persisted Mr. Randall.
"I don't see how it could fall out of the pocket," said John Wilford.
"Nor I; but the money is gone," answered the bank director, with a vacant stare. "I'm ruined!"
"Well, I can't help it. I've done all I could for you. I tried to save it; and if I get the rheumatism for a month or two, it will be a bad job for me."
"Wasn't the pocketbook in the pocket when you picked up the coat?" asked Mr. Randall, walking up to the ferryman.
"How should I know?" replied John Wilford. "I gave you the coat just as I found it."
"I don't believe the pocketbook would sink," added the director.
"There was nothing but paper in it."
"Of course it wouldn't sink, then," interposed the owner of the vehicle in the ferry-boat.
"I don't think it would," said Mr. Randall.
"I know it wouldn't," protested the stranger. "I dropped my pocketbook into the lake once, and it floated ten minutes before I could get it again."