Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Own Company; Or, Barnstorming in the Middle West онлайн

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He placed the hat on a small table, but the farmer's long arm shot out, and his fingers clutched the coveted receptacle of all that money.

A moment later Josiah was staring in open-mouthed dismay into the hat, which was——

Empty!

"Great smoke!"

The farmer managed to gasp forth the words.

"What is the matter, sir?" quietly asked Frank, without looking toward the man.

"It—it's gone!"

"What's gone?"

"The money!"

Merry whirled, threw up his hands, gave a cry of feigned consternation.

"What have you done?" he demanded, wringing his hands.

"Why, I jest took up the hat arter yeou put it onter ther table, and all the money was gone aout of it."

"What made you touch it? Why did you do it? That is why the money disappeared. You should have let me handle it."

"Look here, young man," said the farmer, trying to appear indignant, "yeou can't come this on me! Whut have yeou done with that money? Half of it b'longs to me, an' b'gosh! I want it. Yeou must hev took it frum the hat."

"I appeal to the audience. I simply placed the hat on the table, while I prepared to count and divide the money with you. You caught it up, and this is the result. You, sir, and you alone, must assume the responsibility."