“But,––I––I––Which one is it, Jim? What she call herself?”
“Oh,––there are several, you blooming Mormon?”
Sol ran to his coat and pulled a bundle of letters and 198 miscellaneous photographs from the pocket. He handed them to Jim.
“Look at them,” he cried in excitement. “Tell me quick which one come.”
He mopped the perspiration from his brow. “By hell!––I guess I been got in a bad fix this time for sure.”
Jim slowly went over the documents and photographs.
“No! No! No! No!” he exclaimed, as he handed them back to Sol one by one.
“Not one,––by gosh, Jim! That pretty funny. Must be one, though. Sure you look at every one?”
“She’s not there, Sol. Trot out the others, old man.”
“I ain’t got no more, Jim. Honest! That every dam-one,––honest!