“Like enough—nobody’d see it in the dark and he was out early.”
“What kind of a bag was it, anyway?”
“Oh, kind of—this—what do you call it—mesh-work, he said.”
“Bottle of smelling salts in it?” asked Harry, as he twirled his jack-knife and sent it plunging into the earth.
The boys stared.
“Sure,” answered one of those who had met the bicyclist. “What do you know about it?”
Harry laid the blade of his knife between two fingers, eyed it critically, and struck the bone handle with the first finger of his other hand. The knife made four complete somersaults and landed upright in the grass.
“Handkerchief—sixteen cents?” said he.
“Sure!” cried the astonished boy.
Harry fumbled in his pocket, brought forth the reticule, and slung it by its chain to the boy who had spoken. Then he held his knife suspended vertically and, forming a ring with his thumb and finger about twelve inches below it, dropped the knife through the ring.