"No," said Alphonse, and violent, positive protestations could not have been more convincing. "But where are they? I left them in the car." "They probably fell out, father," said Henrietta. "They have never fallen out before," snorted the general, with base suspicions against Henrietta. "We can get another to-morrow," said Henrietta. "We will simply return to the hotel in the village for the night." And once more she replaced the napkins in the basket. "Yes," agreed Bartlett. "There is a good hotel near the railroad tracks." "Where are the railroad tracks?" asked the general, who had lost all faith in Bartlett’s knowledge of the country. "We passed no railroad tracks." "Just before you come to the village," retorted Bartlett, irritated as a badgered animal. "You have to cross them as you come up the main street." "We crossed none," said the general, with the indifference of one who realizes that there is no more to hope for. The boat is sinking, let it sink. The last cent gone and the landlord coming for two months’ rent. Let him come. "No," said Billy gently, "we didn’t, father." "Why, we did, we must have," protested Bartlett. "I always come here on the railroad train. They have to flag it, but it stops. Why, I know there are tracks there." The general did not attempt to argue. "We are lost," said he, and one knew that the unfortunate event was entirely due to the scorn of others for the blue book. "No," said Henrietta kindly, "there were no tracks. I remember saying to Billy I was glad there was one town not spoiled by the garish contamination of the world. Didn’t I, Billy?" "Yes, she did," admitted Billy, looking pityingly at her father. "If we didn’t pass through Wayne, we are lost and the Higgins’ home is probably miles from here and there is no use looking for it," said Bartlett, and smiled—grimly, the general thought; happily, the Watermelon thought. It would be rare luck to be lost thus early. They were all gathered around the table, except the Watermelon and Alphonse. Alphonse still stood by the door, hat in hand. He was merely a paid hireling. His master’s affairs were none of his. The Watermelon still sat on the dresser and swung his feet. The predicament was only one of the many he was more or less always involved in and not worth thinking about. Batchelor and the police did not worry him that night. It was too early. "Why not eat something before we go?" he said. "We have been here about an hour now, and another hour won’t make our crime any the worse." "Yes," agreed Henrietta promptly, surprised at her own depravity. "Let’s," and again she took out the plates and napkins. "Suppose they come back," softly whispered Billy. Instinctively they all glanced at the door, and Henrietta paused with her hands on the edge of the basket. The Watermelon laughed. "You ain’t worrying because you broke into another’s house," said he. "What’s fretting you is that you may be found out."