Ten minutes later, Frank, remembering that a great silence had fallen
over the neighboring apartment, stole softly to the door and looked in.
He saw a picture of abject dejection there--Bluff sitting on the floor,
in the midst of piles of garments, clothes bags, and all manner of
things, frowning and shaking his head, as if he had lost his last
friend.
"What's the matter?" demanded Frank, drawing nearer.
"Matter enough," answered the disconsolate one, sighing heavily. "Why,
after all my trouble and everything, I've gone and left that knife at
home, and now my whole trip is going to be spoiled for me. I just seemed
to feel that something was bound to happen to upset my calculations. I
might as well go back, that's what," said Bluff, gritting his teeth in
his spasm of disgust.
CHAPTER IX
FRANK HAS HIS TURN
"Oh, humbug! There are other knives," remarked Frank cheerily.
"Not like that one," said Bluff dismally.
"No doubt Mr. Mabie will lend you a good one while you're here."
"Yes, he's awfully kind, but it wouldn't be that knife," groaned the
bereaved Bluff.
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