Horace felt in his coat pocket for his purse; and drew out his hand quickly, as if a bee had stung it.
"Why, what! What does this mean?"
"What is it, Horace?"
"Nothing, auntie, only my wallet's gone," replied the boy, very white about the mouth.
"Gone? Look again. Are you sure?"
"Yes, as sure as I want to be?"
"Mine,—is mine gone too?" cried Prudy.
Horace did not seem willing to answer.
"Where did you have your purse last?"
"Just before we came out of Dorlon's oyster saloon. Just before we came here for butter-scotch," replied Horace, glaring fiercely at Granny.