He was still cheerful next morning as he arose and began to dress. Then he paused, and in a somewhat anxious fashion patted his trousers pockets. Minute and painful investigation revealed a bunch of keys and a clasp-knife.
He tried his other pockets, and then, sinking in a dazed fashion into a chair, tried to think what had become of his purse and loose change. His watch, a silver one, was under his pillow, where he had placed it the night before, and his ready cash was represented by the shilling which hung upon the chain.
He completed his dressing slowly while walking about the room, looking into all sorts of likely and unlikely hiding-places for his money, and at length gave up the search in disgust, and sat down to wait until such time as his host should appear. It was a complication for which he had not bargained, and unable to endure the suspense any longer, he put his head up the stairway and bawled to the old man to come down.
“What’s the matter now?” demanded the old man as he came downstairs, preceded by his wife. “One would think the place belonged to you, making all that noise.”
“I’ve lost my purse,” said Flower, regarding him sternly. “My purse has been taken out of one pocket and some silver out of the other while I was asleep.”
The old man raised his eyebrows at his wife and scratched his chin roughly.
“I s’pose you’ve lost my three pounds along with it?” he said, raspily.
“Where’s my purse?” demanded the skipper, roughly; “don’t play the fool with me. It won’t pay.”
“I don’t know nothing about your purse,” said the other, regarding him closely with his little bloodshot eyes; “you’re trying to do me out o’my three pounds—me what’s took you in and ’id you.”
The incensed skipper made no reply, but, passing upstairs, turned the bed-room topsy-turvy in a wild search for his property. It was unsuccessful, and he came down with a look in his face which made his respected host get close to his wife.