"Why not? He's got yours, hasn't he?"
Steve lifted the suit-case to the seat beside him and tried the catch. It was not locked and opened readily. There wasn't a great deal in it: a pair of lavender pajamas at which Steve sniffed sarcastically, a travelling case fitted with inexpensive brushes and things and marked "A. L. M.," a pair of slippers, a magazine, a soiled collar, one clean handkerchief and a grey flannel cap with a red B sewed on the front above the visor.
"Wonder whose they are," mused Tom, as Steve spread the trousers of the pajamas out and viewed them dubiously. They were several sizes two large for Steve, but they might do if his trunk didn't come in time. "I suppose that fellow swiped this bag, found there wasn't anything valuable in it and thought he'd swap it for another."
"Maybe there was something valuable in it when he got it," said Steve. He tossed the things back and closed it again. "It's a pretty good suit-case; better than mine. Do you suppose it would do any good to advertise?"
"I don't suppose so. Besides, that cop said that he'd have them search the pawnshops. If the police don't find it I guess an advertisement wouldn't do any good, Steve."
"Well, I suppose there's no use crying over spilled milk," replied the other, setting the suit-case back in its place. "After all I can buy new things for five dollars or so and I guess father will send me the money when I tell him about it."
Tom frowned thoughtfully. Finally, "Say, Steve, if you won't tell him how it happened I'll pay for what you lost myself."
"What for?"
"I—I'd rather he didn't know, that's all."
"Oh! Well, I won't tell him you had anything to do with it, Tom. You didn't, either," he added after a moment. "It wasn't your fault, Tom. It—it would have happened to me just the same way, I'll bet."