The Herald Advance

Helen Holden: Copyright.

This was the first domestic difficulty Mrs. Hoy had had. Various things had disappeared from her boudoir.

Mrs. Hoy had a sudden inspiration. She flew across the room to the dresser. After rummaging for a few seconds she brought to light a long, narrow pocketbook.

She cleared a corner of the drawer, and into it dumped the contents, the bills and loose change of the pocketbook.

She picked out from the loose change two quarters, two dimes, and a nickel. These she returned to the pocketbook in her hand.

"Two quarters, two tens, and a five," she counted, before shutting the pocketbook; "that's enough bait."

"Now to see if I can catch my fish."

If the pocketbook disappeared, she would have proof positive that Delia, the maid, was the guilty one.

She laid it on the sideboard.

Just at this point her train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of her husband.

Luncheon was an unusually silent and hurried meal.

Immediately after luncheon Mr. Hoy hurried away.

"I'm sorry, Hester," he said, as he was leaving, "but I'll be late tonight."

"How little he suspects," Hester said, as she shut the door slowly behind him.

About six o'clock a man stood outside the Hoy apartment. Noiselessly he fitted a key in the lock and gently pushed the door open.

"There's still something for which to be thankful," he sighed, as he sank into the nearest chair.

It was Kenton Hoy.

"I, who never lost as much as a nickel before!" he exclaimed irritably.

"Losing a pocketbook with twenty-five dollars is something of a blow!"

"Pshaw," he added quickly, "haven't lost it. I've just mislaid it somewhere."

"And it must be found before Hester gets home."

After five minutes of frenzied search, Mr. Hoy paused for breath.

"But there's Delia," a sudden thought striking him. "Delia might have picked it up while dusting round and tucked it away somewhere."

"Goodness, gracious me, Kenton Hoy, how you scared me!" exclaimed Mrs. Hoy, letting herself in suddenly at the front door.

"I thought you weren't coming home till late."

"Well—you see, I—er—got through early, after all," replied Mr. Hoy.

"Well, I'm thankful you did," said Mrs. Hoy, "for we'll have to go out to dinner tonight."

"Go out to dinner?" asked Mr. Hoy faintly.

"Delia's gone," announced Mrs. Hoy shortly.

"Gone?" gasped Mr. Hoy.

"Yes; come on, and I'll tell you as we go along."

Mr. Hoy did some rapid thinking. He had in his pocket just seventy-five cents in change.

All the way down the car was crowded.

Mr. Hoy found himself helping his wife out of the car, across the street, and into the restaurant's seat.

Before he had time to think further, he was beginning in earnest the part he had just been rehearsing.

His look of startled surprise, as his hand came out empty from his pocket, was perfect.

The head waiter came hurrying up.

"What's the matter? Something lost?" he asked hurriedly.

"My pocketbook. It's gone," answered Mr. Hoy truthfully.

Then he glanced swiftly at his wife. It was now up to her.

"Don't make such a scene," his wife whispered hurriedly. "I have enough."

Mr. Hoy could scarcely refrain from dancing down the room to the table where they were to eat.

"Tell me about losing your pocketbook," suggested Mrs. Hoy, as soon as they had given their order.

"You saw what happened." It was all Mr. Hoy could do to keep from smiling. "Probably some one in the car—er—must have—"

"Then, how do you account for this?" and his wife laid on the table, between them, the lost pocketbook.

"How—when—where?" stammered Kenton Hoy.

"On the floor in front of your chiffonier this morning just after you left," replied Mrs. Hoy.

"Fair exchange is no robbery," he smiled, as his hand, in restoring the lost pocketbook to its usual place in his pocket, came in contact with a small, flat object.

Pulling it out of his pocket, he tossed it across the table to his wife.

"My pocketbook!" screamed Mrs. Hoy so loud that the diners at the other tables turned to see what had happened.

Mr. Hoy nodded.

"Why, that's the very reason I discharged Delia," continued Mrs. Hoy excitedly.

"I didn't take it from your drawer," explained Mr. Hoy. "I found it at lunchtime—on the sideboard."

"If I were you I wouldn't say anything again—ever again—about mislaying things," warned Mrs. Hoy.

Mr. Hoy winced.

Things were still working as he figured.