“Too late for the train?” asked the latter, who observed in the landlord evidences of haste.
“Not for the train, but for one of the passengers by the train,” responded the landlord. “Did you take notice of a man dressed in a shabby suit of black, wearing a soft hat and having very long black hair?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he going?” asked Mr. Gates eagerly.
“He bought a ticket for Chambersburg.”
“Ha! Well, I want you to telegraph for me to Chambersburg.”
The station-master was also the telegraph-operator, as it chanced.
“Certainly. Just write out your message and I will send it at once.”
Mr. Gates telegraphed to a deputy sheriff at Chambersburg to be at the depot on arrival of the train, and to arrest and detain the professor till he could communicate further with him.
“Now,” said he, turning to Philip, “I think we shall be able to stop the flight of your friend.”
“Don't call him my friend,” said Philip. “He is anything but a friend.”
“You are right there. Well, I will amend and call him your partner. Now, Mr. de Gray—”
“My name is Gray—not de Gray. The professor put in the 'de' because he thought it would sound foreign.”
“I presume you have as much right to the name as he has to the title of professor,” said Gates.
“I don't doubt it,” returned Philip, smiling.
“Well, as I was about to say, we may as well go back to the hotel, and await the course of events. I think there is some chance of your getting your money back.”
When they reached the hotel, they found a surprise in store for them.
Sam had carried the professor's wallet to Mr. Perry, and been told by them to wait and hand it in person to Philip and his friend, Mr. Gates, who were then at the depot.
When they arrived, Sam was waiting on the stoop, wallet in hand.
“What have you got there, Sam?” asked Mr. Gates, who often came to Knoxville, and knew the boy. “It's the wallet of that man you were after,” said Sam.
“How did you get it?” asked Philip eagerly.
“I chased him 'cross lots,” said Sam.
“You didn't knock him over and take the wallet from him, did you, Sam?” asked Mr. Gates.
“Not so bad as that,” answered Sam, grinning. “You see, he tripped over a big rock, and came down on his hands and knees. The wallet jumped out of his pocket, but he didn't see it. I picked it up and brought it home.”
“Didn't he know you were chasing him?”
“I guess not. He never looked back.”
“What made you think of running after him?”
“One of the girls told me to. The way he ran out of the back door made her think there was something wrong.”
“Suppose he had turned round?”
“I guess I could have wrastled with him,” said Sam, to the amusement of those who heard him.
“It is well you were not obliged to.”
“Who shall I give the wallet to?” asked Sam.
“Mr. Gray, here, is the professor's partner, and half the money belongs to him. You can give it to him.”
“Have I a right to take it?” asked Philip, who did not wish to do anything unlawful.
He was assured that, as the business partner of the professor, he had as much right as Riccabocca to the custody of the common fund.
“But half of it belongs to the professor.”
“He'll come back for it, in the custody of the sheriff. I didn't think I was doing the man a good turn when I telegraphed to have him stopped.”
The first thing Philip did was to take from his own funds a five-dollar bill, which he tendered to Sam.
“Is it all for me?” asked the boy, his eyes sparkling his joy.
“Yes; but for you I should probably have lost a good deal more. Thank you, besides.”
And Philip offered his hand to Sam, who grasped it fervently.
“I say, you're a tip-top chap,” said Sam. “You ain't like a man that lost a pocketbook last summer, with a hundred dollars in it, and gave me five cents for finding it.”
“No; I hope I'm not as mean as that,” said Philip, smiling.
He opened the wallet and found a memorandum containing an exact statement of the proceeds of the concert. This was of great service to him, as it enabled him to calculate his own share of the profits.
The aggregate receipts were one hundred and fifty dollars and fifty cents. Deducting bills paid, viz.:
Rent of hall........................ $5.00
Printing, etc........................ 5.00
Bill-poster......................... 1.00
Total...........................$11.00
there was a balance of $138.50, of which Philip was entitled to one-half, namely, $69.25. This he took, together with the eleven dollars which he had himself paid to the creditors of the combination, and handed the wallet, with the remainder of the money, to Mr. Perry, landlord of the Knoxville Hotel, with a request that he would keep it till called for by Professor Riccabocca.
“You may hand me three dollars and a half, Mr. Perry,” said Mr. Gates. “That is the amount the professor owes me for a day and three-quarters at my hotel. If he makes a fuss, you can tell him he is quite at liberty to go to law about it.”
Meanwhile, where was the professor, and when did he discover his loss?
After the train was a mile or two on its way he felt in his pocket for the wallet, meaning to regale himself with a sight of its contents—now, as he considered, all his own.
Thrusting his hand into his pocket, it met—vacancy.
Pale with excitement, he continued his search, extending it to all his other pockets. But the treasure had disappeared!
Professor Riccabocca was panic-stricken. He could hardly suppress a groan.
A good woman sitting opposite, judging from his pallor that he was ill, leaned over and asked, in a tone of sympathy:
“Are you took sick?”
“No, ma'am,” answered the professor sharply.
“You look as if you was goin' to have a fit,” continued the sympathizing woman. “Jest take some chamomile tea the first chance you get. It's the sovereignest thing I know of—”
“Will chamomile tea bring back a lost pocket-book?” demanded the professor sharply.
“Oh, Lor'! you don't say you lost your money?”
“Yes, I do!” said Riccabocca, glaring at her.
“Oh, dear! do you think there's pickpockets in the car?” asked the old lady nervously.
“Very likely,” answered the professor tragically.
The good woman kept her hand in her pocket all the rest of the way, eyeing all her fellow passengers sharply.
But the professor guessed the truth. He had lost his wallet when he stumbled in the field. He was in a fever of impatience to return and hunt for it. Instead of going on to Chambersburg, he got out at the next station—five miles from Knoxville—and walked back on the railroad-track. So it happened that the telegram did no good.
The professor walked back to the hotel across the fields, hunting diligently, but saw nothing of the lost wallet. He entered the hotel, footsore, weary, and despondent. The first person he saw was Philip, sitting tranquilly in the office.
“Did you just come down from your room?” asked our hero coolly.
“I am a most unfortunate man!” sighed Riccabocca, sinking into a seat.
“What's the matter?”
“I've lost all our money.”
“I am glad you say 'our money.' I began to think you considered it all yours. Didn't I see you on the train?”
“I had a bad headache,” stammered the professor, “and I didn't know what I was doing.”
“Does riding in the cars benefit your head?”
Professor Riccabocca looked confused.
“The wallet was found,” said Philip, not wishing to keep him any longer in suspense.
“Where is it?” asked the professor eagerly.
“Mr. Perry will give it to you. I have taken out my share of the money, and Mr. Gates has received the amount of his bill. It would have been better for you to attend to these matters yourself like an honest man.”
Professor Riccabocca was so overjoyed to have back his own money that he made no fuss about Philip's proceedings. Indeed, his own intended dishonesty was so apparent that it would have required even more assurance than he possessed to make a protest.