"One hundred and sixty bucks to the bad for mine," laughed Bunch.
"I guess that will hold me temporarily. Come on, John; let's hop
in the Bubble and dash back to the Hotel Astor; the girls will be
waiting for us."

We hurried to the spot where Flash Harvey was to leave the
gas-hopper but there was no sign of Flash or the machine.

Seven o'clock came and still no sign of Flash or the Bubble, and
there we sat, two sad boys without a baubee in the jeans, hungry to
the limit and with an ever present vision of our two worried wives
displacing a bunch of expensive space in a restaurant while they
waited for us to show.

It was pitiful.

Eight o'clock came, no Flash, no machine, while there we waited and
watched our hair as it slowly turned gray.

I had gone through my pockets till I wore holes in them without
locating anything in the shape money, but finally on about the
919th lap Bunch discovered dollar bill tucked away in a corner,
whereupon we turned our faces to every point of the compass and
called down maledictions on the head of Flash Harvey, wherever he
might be, and then ducked for the trolley.

When we finally reached the Hotel Astor it was a quarter past ten,
so we decided it was too late for dinner and we didn't go in.

At home--but what's the use?