Presently the bath-room door opened again, and he saw Conniston, his
trousers in his hand, standing in the doorway, grinning as though at
some rare laughter-provoking thought.
"Well, old man," Hapgood smiled back at him, "whence the mirth?"
Conniston chuckled gleefully.
"Another joke, Roger, my boy! I wonder when the Fates are going to
drop us in order to give their undivided attention to some other lucky
mortals? You know that twenty-seven dollars and sixty cents?"
"Well?"
"I've lost it!" Conniston laughed outright as his ready imagination
depicted amusing complications ahead. "Every blamed cent of it!"
"What!" Hapgood was upon his feet, staring. Hapgood's complacency was
a thing of the past.
Conniston nodded, his grin still with him.
"Every cent of it! And here we are the Lord knows how far from home--"
"Have you looked through all your pockets?"
"Every one. And I found--"
"What?"
"A hole," chuckled Conniston. "Just a hole, and nothing more."
Hapgood jerked the trousers from the shaking hand of the man whom
such a catastrophe could move to laughter, and made a hurried search.
"What the devil are we going to do?" he gasped, when there was at last
no doubting the truth.
Conniston shrugged. "I haven't had time to figure out that part of it.
Haven't you any money?"
"About seven dollars," snapped Hapgood.
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