"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. "And a long time that will
keep the two of us. It's up to you, Greek!"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that you've got to wire your dad for money. There's nothing
left to do. Dang it!" he finished, bitterly, throwing the empty
trousers back to Conniston, "I was a fool to ever come with you."

"You've said that before. But"--his good humor still tickled by his
loss, which he refused to take seriously in spite of the drawn face
staring into his--"I haven't even the money to wire the old gent!"

"Oh, I'll pay for it."

"I didn't want to do it so soon," Conniston hesitated. "But it begins
to look as though--"

"There's nothing to it. You've got to do it! Why, man, do you realize