“Oh—ginger—I—I didn’t lose it, after all. Well, wouldn’t that stagger a mule? I—I——”
Cranny clapped his hands together and burst into a roar of laughter, while the two gentlemen gazed at the diminutive form of Mr. Beaumont’s ward in astonishment.
“And do you actually mean to say that you’ve put me to all this trouble for nothing?” roared Mr. Sharswood.
“Why—why, you ought to be mighty glad to get it back, sir,” said Willie, reproachfully. “I couldn’t help thinking I lost it—felt sure I’d looked through that pocket carefully; honest, I did.”
“Well, well, Beaumont, this is about the limit!” cried the visitor, as he seized the envelope from Willie’s outstretched hand. “All the afternoon wasted—for it put me into such a state of mind that I couldn’t do a stroke of work. What do you think of yourself, young man?”
Willie’s eyes were still staring hard into the stout man’s face. He gulped once or twice, then mumbled:
“I’m not wasting any time thinking about myself.”
“Don’t feel a bit sorry, eh?”
“Why, I didn’t mean to do it. You see——”
Mr. Sharswood waved his hand.