"What do you s'pose there is in that pocket-book?" asked Dick,
holding it up.

Frank surveyed its ample proportions, and answered sincerely enough,
"Money, and a good deal of it."

"There aint stamps enough in it to buy a oyster-stew," said Dick.
"If you don't believe it, just look while I open it."

So saying he opened the pocket-book, and showed Frank that it was
stuffed out with pieces of blank paper, carefully folded up in the
shape of bills. Frank, who was unused to city life, and had never
heard anything of the "drop-game" looked amazed at this unexpected
development.

"I knowed how it was all the time," said Dick. "I guess I got the
best of him there. This wallet's worth somethin'. I shall use it to
keep my stiffkit's of Erie stock in, and all my other papers what
aint of no use to anybody but the owner."

"That's the kind of papers it's got in it now," said Frank, smiling.

"That's so!" said Dick.

"By hokey!" he exclaimed suddenly, "if there aint the old chap
comin' back ag'in. He looks as if he'd heard bad news from his
sick family."

By this time the pocket-book dropper had come up.