The first team worked its way slowly out of the Slough of Despond that week. Progress was not uninterrupted, to be sure, but it seemed certain enough. On Tuesday the first took slight revenge on the scrubs, but on Wednesday it slipped back a little, allowing the second to give a spirited imitation of its former high-handed methods. Thursday again saw the first team in the ascendancy and the scrubs got their first thorough licking in more than three weeks. Perhaps it needed just that to restore the first’s confidence, for thereafter, while the season lasted, it never again bowed to its friendly enemy. Russell saw hard work and took hard blows, but lived very fully those days and enjoyed life exceedingly. His comrade on his left, Wells, was wrought to new heights of eloquence daily, eloquence that, as his opponents gathered speed, failed more and more of effect. By the end of that week Wells had fairly exhausted his powers of sarcasm and vituperation and had subsided into an amazed silence that was almost pathetic to observe. He played on, but it was easily seen that his heart was not in it. Battle had lost its savor for the right tackle.

Coach Cade chose to devote Friday to smoothing off the angles in preparation for the Oak Grove Academy contest the next day, and hence the second, its season almost over, was released from work that day. Oak Grove was not ordinarily a hard proposition; had, in fact, been given the date for that reason; but, with the Kenly game a week later, the time had come for a dress rehearsal. Indeed that time, but for the slump, would have arrived a week before. Released from practice, Russell went to the Sign of the Football at three to relieve Stick. He found the latter busy and the counter fairly crowded with customers and friends. Russell had long since discovered that it took, on the average, two and a half boys to conduct a purchase; which is to say that a customer was usually accompanied by from two to three – sometimes four – companions whose duty it was to lend advice and counsel. Russell went to Stick’s aid and half an hour later the last purchaser had departed and the store was, for the moment, empty of all save the partners and the ever-present Mr. J. Warren Pulsifer. Stick, free to return to school, lingered, and Russell guessed that he had something on his mind. What it was developed after a few moments of desultory conversation.

“Say,” began Stick, “I suppose you don’t want to buy me out, Rus.”

Russell shook his head slowly. “No, Stick. That is, I’d be glad to do it, if you wanted me to, but I haven’t got enough money. If I took a hundred and twenty-five out of the business I’d be in a hole right off. There’s another month’s rent coming due pretty soon, and three bills that must be paid by the twentieth. Maybe after the first of the year, though, I could manage it. Still, I don’t see why you want to get out, Stick. Things are coming our way at last and we’re doing pretty well.”

Stick nodded gloomily. “I know,” he agreed, “but – but I’ve got another use for the money.” He avoided Russell’s gaze, however, and the latter surmised that the statement wasn’t exactly truthful. The true explanation was indicated by Stick’s next remark. “You think you’ve got Crocker beaten, Rus, but he’s going to get you yet.”

“I don’t believe so, Stick, honestly. I’m sorry you can’t get out if you want to, but I don’t believe you’ll lose anything by staying in.”

Stick looked unimpressed during the short silence that followed. At last: “Well, I’ve made up my mind,” he said a trifle defiantly. “I can’t afford to lose that money, Rus. Now, I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you until next Wednesday. Maybe you’ll change your mind. Maybe you can get the money somewhere?” Stick’s voice ended in a rising inflection.

Russell shook his head. “I can’t, Stick. But I don’t understand, I guess. Suppose I don’t change my mind by Wednesday. What do you intend to do?”

Stick hesitated. Then, “Sell out,” he answered challengingly.

Russell stared. “Sell out! But I tell you I can’t – Oh, I see! You mean to some one else.” Stick nodded. “I’m afraid you won’t find that very easy, Stick. Folks wouldn’t consider it a very enticing investment just now.” Russell smiled a little at his friend’s surprising ignorance, and Stick caught the smile and bristled.

“That’s all right,” he answered. “Don’t you worry. I’ve found some one who’ll buy me out to-day if I’ll sell. I just thought I ought to give you first chance.” Something in Russell’s expression caused him to add hastily: “I’ve got a right to sell, haven’t I?”

“Yes, I suppose you have,” replied Russell quietly. “At least, I guess the law would say so, but it seems to me that, in a partnership like this, selling out to a third person isn’t just fair, Stick.”

“Why isn’t it? I’ve offered to sell to you – ”

“You know I can’t buy!”

“That’s not my fault! This thing isn’t going to make money: it’s going on the rocks just as soon as Crocker starts in to really fight you! I want to get out while there’s time, and I mean to. If you can’t buy my interest I’ve got a perfect right to sell it to some one else, and I’m going to.”

“Who is it, Stick?” asked Russell.

“Fellow named Throgmorton.”

“One of our fellows?”

“Sure.” Stick nodded vigorously. “He came to see me yesterday, and again to-day. He’s going to give me a hundred and fifty for my share in the business. I’ll sell to you for a hundred and twenty-five, just what I put in. That’s fair enough, isn’t it?”

Russell had to acknowledge that it was. “But why does Throgmorton want to buy you out?” he asked perplexedly.

Stick shrugged. Evidently that didn’t interest him. “He says the thing’s all right. I let him think so.”

“But how did he learn that you wanted to sell?”

“I guess he heard it somewhere,” answered the other evasively. “Maybe he didn’t know it. He didn’t say so. He just came to me and asked.”

Russell frowned. “Throgmorton,” he mused. “I don’t believe I know him. Did he say he knew me, Stick?”

“No, I don’t believe so. He’s all right, though. He’s a senior, Rus; a big, dark-looking fellow. You’ll know him when you see him. I guess he would make a good partner. He talks like he knew a good deal about business.”

“He understands, I suppose, that he isn’t buying an equal interest?”

“Oh, sure! He said you and he would get on all right. Said he had this money and wanted to make a little more, and thought this was a good way.” Stick laughed. “I let him keep right on thinking so.”

Russell shook his head. “I don’t understand it,” he murmured. “Fellows don’t usually have a hundred and fifty dollars lying around loose like that.”

“I don’t say he’s got it in his pocket,” replied Stick. “Maybe it’s in the bank. But I guess he can get hold of it all right. He talks straight, anyway.”

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t do this,” said Russell pleadingly. “Honest, Stick, we’ll make this go if you’ll hold on. Why, we’ve got a lot of business in sight right now. We’ve got the hockey and basket ball teams, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we got the baseball team too. And then there’s that stuff for Mr. Kincaid. That’s almost certain. And next fall – ”

But Stick was shaking his head stubbornly. “That’s all right, Rus. You believe all that, maybe, but I don’t. I’ve made up my mind. I’d rather sell out to you, even if I didn’t make anything, but if you can’t buy, why, I’m going to sell to Throgmorton. You’ve got until next Wednesday, anyway. I promised him I’d give him his answer then.”

“You can give him his answer to-morrow just as well,” said Russell sadly. “Waiting until Wednesday doesn’t help me any.”

“Well, I’d rather,” replied Stick. “I’d feel better about it. You – you think it over, Rus. Well, I’ll be getting back. I told Wallace I’d play him some tennis at four. So long!”

Russell didn’t have much time to reflect on this new and sudden turn of affairs until closing time, for as Stick went his way two high school fellows entered in search of gymnasium togs, and after that the store was never quite empty of customers.

Between him and Stick the matter was not again mentioned that evening, but after supper Russell made his way across to Lykes and found Jimmy and Stanley in Number 4. It wasn’t until Stanley took himself out after a while that Russell confided his perplexities, however. Jimmy took a philosophical view of the situation, although he did refer disparagingly to Stick as a “quitter.”

“I don’t know this Throgmorton chap,” he said, “but I’ve seen him about and he looks all right. I think Stan has met him. I believe he’s rather a shark for study and copped a scholarship last year. After all, he can’t trouble you much, can he? I mean, you’ve got the say about things.”

“Y-yes, of course,” Russell agreed hesitatingly.

“Besides,” went on the other cheeringly, “it ought to be a grand relief to get rid of that crêpe-hanger. Patterson has a conniption fit every time you suggest buying another dollar’s worth of stock or paying a quarter to have the window cleaned. He can think up more reasons for not spending a dime than any fellow I ever saw! If this Throgmorton chap is willing to invest a hundred and fifty in the business he’s likely to want to see it succeed. Besides, he’s a senior and will have more time to put in at the store than Patterson has.”

“Stick’s a senior, too,” reminded Russell.

“I know, but he’s a regular crab when it comes to doing his share. Honest, Rus, I wouldn’t be surprised if this turned out to be a stroke of luck.”

“Well, maybe,” agreed Russell doubtfully. “I guess what worried me most was having some one I don’t know for a partner.”

“Why don’t you go and see him and have a talk?” asked Jimmy. “It wouldn’t take long to find out what he’s like.”

“I don’t believe I will,” answered the other slowly. “If I didn’t like him I couldn’t do anything about it. Stick’s set on going through with it. Gee, I wish I could buy him out myself!”

“Too bad you can’t,” said Jimmy sympathetically. “I suppose when Throgmorton takes hold I’ll get fired.”

“Not unless you want to be,” said Russell, smiling.

“Well, I guess there’s not much chance of promotion and I’d better give notice and look about for something else,” replied Jimmy, grinning. “I’ll help out awhile longer, though. I’ve really had rather a good time, Rus. I’m sort of sorry dad’s so – that is, I’d kind of like to keep a store of some sort. It’s fun, Rus.”

“You might buy Mr. J. Warren Pulsifer out,” suggested Russell with a smile. “I guess he’d be glad to sell to you!”

“Fine idea! Only, you see, he can’t sell.”

“Can’t sell? Why not?”

“Well, it’s quite a story, Rus. He confided it to me one morning almost with tears in his eyes. You see – ”

“You mean to tell me that Mr. Pulsifer talked to you?”

“Of course! Why not? Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, he is inclined to be a bit taciturn, but he will talk if you prod him. We didn’t mix much at first, but I treated him kindly and now we’re quite thick. Funny old guy, but human underneath. You see, Rus, he’s a man with a secret sorrow.”

“What’s his sorrow?”

“Here’s the yarn. It seems that he had an aunt who ran a sort of a florist’s establishment in connection with her home. She was fond of flowers and started in selling them to the neighbors. Then other folks came – there wasn’t any other florist around then – and so she built a greenhouse and, first thing she knew, had quite a trade. That was quite a while back, though, before the town was as big as it is. Of course she had competition finally and her business sort of petered out. But she didn’t give up. Instead, she died. And when she died she left the place, quite a big piece of ground with a nice house on it, to J. Warren on condition that he continue the business.

“Well, J. Warren, according to what he didn’t say, was on his uppers about then. He had married and the old sock was full of nothing much but holes. He had some sort of a job with the railway, he said. So he moved to the auntcestral home – rather good, what? – and turned himself into a florist. But folks didn’t come that far any more, for there were other florists in town here, and pretty soon the business was on its last legs. J. Warren was willing enough to let it die, for, as he said, he hated messing around with flowers and didn’t know a – a sunflower from a violet when he started. But he had a feeling that he wasn’t carrying out the terms of the will, as the lawyer chaps say, without making another struggle. So he opened up this place, stopped raising flowers and bought them instead. By that time he had sold off three or four pieces of the land for house-lots and, I fancy, had plenty of money. This place has never paid. He’s lost money every year. He’d like nothing better than quit, but he’s got an enlarged conscience, you see, and there’s the will and dear old Auntie’s dying command! What he really wants to do is go home and shut himself up in a third-floor room and work on an invention of his; something to do with train signals, as near as I could make out.”

“Still, I don’t see why he can’t sell the business.”

“Conscience, dear boy. Auntie wanted him to continue the business. She didn’t say for how long, and there’s the joker. J. Warren dopes it out that just as long as there’s any business to continue it’s up to him to continue it. And he plays fair, too. He advertises and tries to keep the thing going. But he’s set himself a limit. When the losses reach a certain figure – he didn’t tell me what – he will consider that he’s done his duty and close up shop. I thought at first, when I saw him figuring and figuring there at that little desk of his, that he was worried about business and was trying to make out whether he could make ends meet. But he wasn’t, Rus. He was figuring how much longer he’d have to keep things going. Haven’t you ever noticed how he always frowns and looks dejected if some one comes and wants to buy anything? Sure! Every purchase sets him back just so much. Every time there’s a funeral he figures that the time when he can shut himself up in that third-floor room is delayed another two or three days. You ought to hear him talk about the doctors in this town! He says they’re a lot of ‘nincompoops’ – whatever that is – and that the mortality here is disgraceful. And he’s as keen as anything for the bill in the legislature that makes Armistice Day a state holiday. J. Warren believes in holidays, lots of ’em. The more holidays the less business, and the less business the sooner the florist establishment of J. Warren Pulsifer gets its death blow and J. Warren grabs a screw-driver and a cold chisel and goes back to inventing!”

“Now,” said Russell, laughing, “I know why he was so funny about renting that half of the store to us. One moment he’d be all scowls and the next quite willing!”

“Of course! Auntie pulling one way and the third-floor room another! Well, you see why it isn’t possible for me to buy him out and become a florist.”

“Well, I’m glad he isn’t bothered about money,” said Russell. “I was afraid he was getting ready to jump in the river! He didn’t say how much longer he expected the business to last, did he?”

“N-no, but I rather gathered that, if all goes well – I should say badly – he will be free of it in about one more year.”

“Good,” laughed Russell. “Of course, I’m sorry that his business is doing so well, but I’d hate to have to look for new quarters this year. Maybe by next we’ll be ready to rent the whole building.”

“That’s so. You ought to. Say, Rus, I wouldn’t be surprised if you could supply the football team next fall. I was telling Tod Tenney about you and the shop the other day. Tod will be manager next year, you know. He was mighty interested and said he didn’t see why they couldn’t buy their stuff here as well as in New York. Of course, he didn’t make any promises, and, I suppose, he would have to consult others about it, but it looks promising.”

“That was mighty kind of you,” said Russell gratefully. “You’ve been awfully decent to me, Jimmy, lots of ways, and I want you to know – ”

“Can it,” said Jimmy.

CHAPTER XX
JIMMY HAS A CLEW

It was a rejuvenated team that met Oak Grove Academy the following afternoon. I don’t mean that it played faultless football, for it didn’t, but it had certainly come back wonderfully, and the School, looking on, marveled and perked up and, toward the end of the game, regained its old confidence and belief. It might have been argued that Oak Grove was, after all, not a very strong opponent, but that argument would have been wasted. Besides, while Oak Grove doubtless did show herself weak in one or two departments, it was still true that she had passed through a successful season, sustaining but one defeat, and that two weeks before she had held Kenly to a 6 to 9 score.

It was the first full-period game of the season, and the sixty minutes of actual playing time was filled with excitement and, from an Alton point of view at least, pleasure. From the third or fourth minute of the contest, when Oak Grove fumbled on her forty yards and watched Putney gobble up the ball and streak down the field for a touchdown, to the last twilighted moments when, her back to her goal, Alton, her line holding many substitutes, repelled the frenzied attacks of the enemy and finally punted out of danger, the interest never flagged. Jimmy stood eight yards behind the goal-line when he sent the ball corkscrewing away into the gathering gloom, and even as it fell into the anxious hands of the enemy quarter-back the last whistle sounded. The score at the end was 21 to 6.

Ned Richards gained new fame that day, not by spectacular dashes, but by the truly remarkable manner in which he ran the team. There were weak places in the line, there were faults of performance all through, but the generalship was of the best. Ned was steady in his catching of punts, too, and once or twice gained ground for his side, but it was as a commander of men and a strategist that Ned excelled. There were other heroes beside Ned, though none were really outstanding. Perhaps when all is said and done Jimmy deserved as much credit as any other player in the last two periods. He entered the game when the third quarter was a few minutes old and when, with the game secure by an 18 to 3 score, it was thought best to kick rather than rush. Jimmy surprised his audience, perhaps even Jimmy, by the length of his punts and the direction of them. Nothing hurried him or seemed to fluster him. Time and again the ball escaped the upthrust hands of the charging enemy by an apparent miracle. But escape it always did. Jimmy had no kicks blocked.

Harmon, at left half, Browne, at full-back, Nichols, at center, and Rowlandson, at left guard, played top-notch football. Captain Proctor was, as always, good, although to-day he was far from at his best. The Alton ends were not up to the rest of the forwards, and the right of the line, especially after Raleigh had replaced Stimson at guard, was decidedly weak. Tackling was not of the best, the team was penalized far too often and there were times when even Ned’s most frantic efforts failed to speed up the players. But the old fight was back again, the old will to win, and that brought victory. And victory brought joy to the School.

Even in the sudden turn from pessimism to cheerfulness, Alton did not, however, swing to the extreme. No one, perhaps, yet looked for a conclusive victory over Kenly Hall next week. Many predicted a tie, some a triumph by a few points – perhaps a goal after touchdown or even a goal from the field. But the main thing was that the Gray-and-Gold had shown that afternoon that, come what might, she was not to be trampled on; that, victor or vanquished, she would uphold the honor of Alton and its proud traditions. So the student body took hope, and high spirits reigned. If Alton was not destined to win, at best the enemy’s triumph was to be insignificant. That the School should find reason for rejoicing on so slight an excuse was, when one considered it, strange, for a preponderance of victories during recent years had endowed Alton with a perhaps excusable arrogance. A more disinterested philosopher than any of our characters might have told himself that a defeat for the Gray-and-Gold would possibly prove an unpalatable but beneficial medicine!

Naturally enough a certain restraint existed between the roommates in Number 27 Upton subsequent to Stick Patterson’s ultimatum. In spite of being quite convinced that he was acting within his rights, Stick was uncomfortable and showed it by acting in an unusually care-free and careless manner which fooled neither him nor Russell. On his part, Russell, recognizing his friend’s privilege of selling his interest as he had indicated, tried to feel no sense of injury, failed and was unnaturally polite and awkward in Stick’s presence. It was a relief to both when either could avail himself of an excuse to get away. Fortunately for Russell football affairs took precedence over all else during the next few days. The Best Second Team in the History of Alton Academy was finishing its career at full steam, and Russell was steaming with it. Monday and Tuesday saw battles royal between the first and the scrub. Wednesday’s meeting was less ferocious, since then the second was used as a battering ram and, given the ball time and again on the first team’s ten yards, was instructed to carry it over. That success came but once, and then with the aid of a half-distance penalty, spoke well for the big team’s reviving defense. Work was interrupted frequently while coaches explained and corrected, and under such circumstances the old fury of battle was sadly wanting. Thursday, though, contrary to established custom, saw one final, glorious struggle. The second, knowing that it was the last, offered life and limb and fought as never before. More than once Coach Cade was forced to intervene and caution in the interest of his charges and Coach Gaston was obliged, unwillingly it appeared, to echo the remonstrance. That was a fine and fitting finish for the second, for although the first scored a touchdown and kicked a field-goal, the scrub team took the ball away from the enemy on the latter’s forty-two yards and, growling and snarling, plunged and twisted, battered and hammered her way across nine almost obliterated white lines and set the pigskin behind the first team’s goal. That march was epic. Friendship was forgotten and no mercy was asked nor shown. Behind the retreating, amazed first team line Coach Cade barked passionate entreaties. In the wake of the second Steve Gaston, an unholy light of triumph on his lean face, roared hoarsely.

“Fight! Fight! FIGHT!” urged Steve. “Six yards more! You can do it, Second! Take it over! It’s your last chance! Don’t quit now! Smash them! Smear them! Fight, Second.”

To the cries of the coaches were added the panting expostulations, appeals, commands of the quarterbacks and captains and the hoarse clamors of the players. Wells, of the second, had found his old eloquence once more and his voice sounded well above the bedlam. “Yah! Try that again, you mutton-face! Come on, Second! Tear ’em up! Look out, you yellow curs, we’re coming through! Yah!”

And then red-headed Reilly was flat on the yellowing sod, his legs in their torn gray hose inside the field but his body in its sweat-stained jacket well over and the pigskin nestled beneath him in a grip that would have resisted wild horses! No goal was kicked, none attempted. The last scrimmage was over. Friend and foe faced each other, panting, glaring, growling. A hushed moment passed. Then tense faces relaxed. The second swarmed together and beat each other’s backs and turned somersaults with the last ounce of remaining strength, shouted with what breath was left in their well-nigh empty lungs, and the first looked on with understanding at least. A few grins made their appearance, gruesome efforts, maybe, on dirt-marked and sometimes battered countenances. Then Captain Proctor, leaning heavily on Rowlandson’s big shoulder, lifted a tired voice.

“Regular … cheer … for the … Second … fellows!.. All together! Come on!”

And the second, grouping themselves about Captain Falls, came back heartily, and their season was over, the duties finished, their rest at hand!

But that was on Thursday, and before it happened other events had occurred which must be set down here. It was Tuesday night that Jimmy appeared hurriedly at Number 27 and, since Stick was seated across the table from Russell, decoyed the latter into the corridor and thence downstairs to a corner of the recreation room.

“Look here,” he began when they were seated, “there may not be anything in this, but I thought I’d better tell you. You know that fellow Throgmorton? Well, I’ve just discovered that he and Billy Crocker are as thick as thieves. I happened to see them together in the village this morning. They went into the drug store across the street. Had drinks, I suppose. Then I asked Stimson this evening at table; he rooms in the same corridor with Throgmorton; and Stimson says those two are great pals. Crocker’s at Throgmorton’s room half the time.”

Russell stared blankly. “You mean – ”

“Well, what do you think? Here’s this old geezer, Crocker, trying to put you out of business. Patterson gets an offer for his interest from Throgmorton. Throgmorton is young Crocker’s pal. Smell a rat?”

Russell nodded. “Still,” he said, “I don’t see – why, even if Throgmorton bought Stick out – ”

“Why, he’d sell to old Crocker again the next minute! Throgmorton doesn’t want to buy in for himself. I don’t believe he’s got any hundred and fifty to his name. Billy Crocker has probably arranged the whole transaction. He picked on Throgmorton because Throgmorton wouldn’t arouse suspicion and you wouldn’t dream that old man Crocker was behind him. But Billy made the silly mistake of letting me see them together; and that got me thinking.”

“I guess you’re right,” agreed Russell dejectedly. “Although even if Mr. Crocker owns a minority interest he can’t do much damage, can he? I’ve still got the say about things. I don’t mean that it would be very pleasant – ”

“Wake up, son! How long do you suppose you’d keep on doing business if old Crocker wanted to close you up? He’d find plenty of ways to put the store on the blink. No, sir, it won’t do, Rus, and you’ve got to find some way of fooling ’em.”

“You’re right, Jimmy. Well, I don’t believe that Stick will sell to Throgmorton when I tell him this. He’s a pretty decent sort, after all. He will be disappointed – ”

Jimmy laughed incredulously. “Why, you silly chump, Stick Patterson does know! At least, I’m pretty sure he does. I’ll bet he and old Crocker fixed it up between them.”

“Oh, no, I don’t believe that,” Russell expostulated. “I don’t believe Stick has ever even spoken with Mr. Crocker.”

Jimmy looked puzzled. “Hasn’t spoken to him? Why, how about that time when Crocker was in the store? Saturday before last, wasn’t it?”

Russell looked blank. “Saturday? You mean that Mr. Crocker was in our store and talked to Stick? Are you sure?”

“Of course. J. Warren told me. Said the old guy was there half an hour or more talking with Patterson. He couldn’t tell what they were talking about, but he said it looked like something important. I thought of course Patterson had told you.”

Russell shook his head. “He didn’t say a word about it,” he replied soberly. He was silent a moment. Then, “I wouldn’t have thought it of Stick,” he sighed.

“I don’t know that I would,” said Jimmy. “He doesn’t seem quite such a cut-throat as that. But it certainly looks – ”

“Yes, I guess he fixed it up with Mr. Crocker. Well, if he did there isn’t anything I can do. There’s no use asking him not to sell.”

“Of course not. Now I’ve been mulling it over ever since I talked with Stimson. What you want to do is buy out Stick yourself.”

“Yes, but I can’t. I don’t dare take enough money out of the bank, Jimmy. It would leave me flat, and – ”

“Wait a sec! What about Patterson? Will he give you until to-morrow noon, say?”

“Oh, yes, I think so. He said I could have until Wednesday to buy him out. To-morrow’s Wednesday, isn’t it?”

“Yes, if it doesn’t rain. Now listen. Here’s a proposition. I haven’t worked it out yet, but – Look, Rus! You see Patterson right away and make him agree not to sell until twelve to-morrow. By that time you’ll have the money.”

“I’ll have the money,” agreed Russell. “Of course. Some one’s going to die and leave it to me, I suppose.”

“Shut up! I’ll get it for you. Listen, idiot.” Jimmy dropped his voice another note, although the nearest person was a small boy half the length of the long room away. “I’ll jump the ten-twenty train to-night. That’ll get me to New York at twelve-forty. I’ll put up at a hotel and be downtown at nine in the morning. Dad always gets to his office at ten past. That’ll give me thirty-six minutes to see him and get the nine-forty-six back. That gets here at eleven-thirty-three. I’ll take a carriage – ”

“Are you crazy?” interrupted Russell.

Jimmy chuckled. “Not a bit. It’s a cinch. You stall Patterson off until twelve – ”

“But your father isn’t going to let you have a hundred and twenty-five dollars for a crazy business like this!”

“Oh, yes, he is. He’s a good sort, dad is. I can get a check from him and make that express easy.”

“But, Jimmy, you’re sick in the head! A hundred and twenty-five dollars is a lot of money. Even if your father happened to have that much to spare right now he wouldn’t – ”

“Huh?” Jimmy looked surprised. “To spare? Oh, I see.” He grinned then. “Rus, you don’t happen to know who my dad is, do you?” Russell shook his head. “He’s Austen of Austen and Cooper.”

“Is he?” asked Russell, unimpressed.

“Oh, gee,” laughed Jimmy, “you’re no New Yorker, are you? Well, Austen and Cooper are a couple of disgustingly wealthy old men, Rus. That’s enough for them. Anyway, dad is pretty sure to be able to dig up a hundred and twenty-five, and he will let me have it, all right, when I tell him what it’s for.”