He would recreate by revelling in Colorado silver lodes.
We packed our own portmanteaus, for Charles had not brought even Simpson with him, and then we prepared to set out by the morning train for Saratoga.
Up till almost the last moment Charles nursed his dispatch-box. But as the 'baggage-smashers' were taking down our luggage, and a chambermaid was lounging officiously about in search of a tip, he laid it down for a second or two on the centre table while he collected his other immediate impedimenta. He couldn't find his cigarette-case, and went back to the bedroom for it. I helped him hunt, but it had disappeared mysteriously. That moment lost him. When we had found the cigarette-case, and returned to the sitting-room—lo, and behold! the dispatch-box was missing! Charles questioned the servants, but none of them had noticed it. He searched round the room—not a trace of it anywhere.
'Why, I laid it down here just two minutes ago!' he cried. But it was not forthcoming.
'It'll turn up in time,' I said. 'Everything turns up in the end—including Mrs. Quackenboss's nose.'
'Seymour,' said my brother-in-law, 'your hilarity is inopportune.'
To say the truth, Charles was beside himself with anger. He took the elevator down to the
