Tensely he sat in his chair and waited with miserable anxiety, his eyes fixed on the dining-room door. Then presently, to his great relief, he saw his father returning.
"Did you—" he began.
"You will have to come yourself, Steve," said the elder man whose brow was wrinkled into a frown of annoyance. "The maid who checked the coats is not there, and the one who is insists that the ulster is not mine, and in spite of the check will not allow me to search the pockets of it."
Stephen jumped up.
"I suppose she is right, too," went on Mr. Tolman breathlessly, "but the delay is very unfortunate."
They made their way into the corridor, where by this time an office clerk and another man had joined the maid who was in charge of the coat rack.
Stephen presented his check and without comment the woman handed him his coat. With trembling hand he dived into the deep pocket and from it drew forth the red bill book which he gave to his father.
"There it is, Dad, safe and sound!" he gasped.
Instantly the clerk was in their path.
"I beg pardon, sir," said he with deference, "but does that pocketbook belong to you?"