“Well, what of it?” Sam asked sharply.
“What of it! Why, when I came along just now he had it.”
“Of course he’d have it, if he’d got it. Don’t be an idiot!”
Step’s arms dropped rather more tragically than they had been raised.
“It—it’s spoiled everything for him. And I don’t wonder. But I was trying to cheer him up when you came blundering in.”
“Queer cheering!” growled Sam. “And much good you were doing him! Now cut this foolishness and come along, both of you. The crowd’s waiting outside with Lon, and it’s time we were starting.”
Poke broke his silence at that. “Oh, I can’t go!” he groaned. “I—I’d have no heart for it.”
“Shucks! It’ll do you all the more good.”
“Nothing can do him good,” croaked Step; then added, rather contradictorily, if with the best of intention: “Brace up, Poke! Pull yourself together! Nev—never say die!”
Sam glanced from one to the other. Step and Poke were close chums; the sorrows of one were generally shared by the other. He was satisfied that the present trouble was really serious, though, as it happened, it did not occur to him to hit upon a clew to the mystery by recalling Poke’s mishap with the big vase. To tell the truth, that incident had rather slipped his mind with the passage of time. Now, though, studying Poke, he observed a crumpled sheet of paper clutched in his hand.