"Jack
is a base defamer of your ability."
"Oh, you had to say that, Walt!" cried Jack, the irrepressible.
"Push on. We want to get that money before some one walks off with
it."
They were soon at the spot, where many tracks in the road showed
that there the collision had taken place. Here was where Ed had
alighted to fix Cora's car. His small machine had on a set of
peculiar tires, and the impressions and indentations of the rubber
shoes, which were new, were plainly, visible in the road.
Stopping their machines alongside the highway, the three young
people began a careful search of the dusty stretch. They went over
every inch of the ground, particularly in the vicinity of the place
where Ed had stopped to fix the broken mud guard. But there was no
sign of the pocketbook.
"Maybe it was dropped farther back," suggested Jack.
"Well, we'll try there," assented Cora, and for ten minutes they
walked up and down the road, some distance back from the place where
Ed had alighted.
"Now try farther on," was Walter's suggestion, and they did this.
But all to no purpose. They were not rewarded by the welcome sight
of a brown leather wallet, bulging with riches.
"It's no use," said Jack.
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