“The best thing we can do is to get to bed as soon as possible,” said Sam, as they entered the room and locked the door.

 

“You might as well pay me what you owe me,” suggested Joshua, who did not intend Sam to forget his indebtedness.

 

“Oh, yes!” said Sam. “Let me find my pocketbook.”

 

He felt in the pocket of his “other pants,” but of course did not find what was not there. To let the reader into a secret, he had, before leaving for the theatre, carefully locked it up in his trunk, where it was even now, as he very well knew.

 

“By Jove!” he exclaimed, whistling, as he withdrew his hand, empty.

 

“What’s the matter?” inquired Joshua, anxiously.

 

“My pocketbook isn’t there!”

 

“Isn’t it? Where is it, then?” demanded Joshua, beginning to be alarmed.

 

“I must have taken it with me to-night, after all,” said Sam. “I understand now,” he added, suddenly. “I must have had my pocket picked in the car.”

 

“Had your pocket picked?” repeated Joshua, as ruefully as if it had been his own.

 

“Yes; didn’t you notice that black-whiskered man that sat next me?”

 

“No.”

 

“I am sure it was he. I thought he looked suspicious as I entered the car. If I hadn’t been talking with you, he couldn’t have robbed me without my knowing it.”

 

“Was there much in the pocketbook?” inquired Joshua.

 

“Not much,” said Sam, indifferently. “Between twenty-seven and twenty-eight dollars, I believe--a mere¹ trifle.”

 

“I call that a good deal.”

 

“It’s more than I like to lose, to be sure.”

 

“Then, you can’t pay me what you owe me?” said Joshua, soberly.

 

“Not just now. In fact, I must wait till the end of the week, when I get my wages.”

 

“How much do you get then?”

 

“Twenty dollars.”

 

“You will surely pay me then?”

 

“Of course. You ain’t afraid to trust me?” said Sam, in a tone indicating his

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