“Five hundred dollars,” Joshua repeated.
The Whimperer drew in a long breath and allowed the wind to burst from his lungs. “Kid,” he asked in a trembling tone, “d’ye mean to slip it to me dat youse’n’me’s been cold an’ hungry an’ wet an’ wid no place to flop a million times, w’ile youse was packin’ five hundred bones over yer shoulder?”
“You wouldn’t pack it,” Joshua placidly reminded him.
“W’y, dat’s simply—simply—” Words failed the awestruck Whimperer. “Dat’s simply scand’lous!” he barked out finally. “Kid, we coulda peddled dat t’ing, an’— Well, wot couldn’t we ’a’ done!”
“Peddled this refractor!”
“Sure peddle ’er, Jack. W’y youse’re a bigger fool dan I t’o’t youse was. Gawd A’mighty, kid! T’ink of it!”
A low laugh came from Joshua’s lips. “Forget that,” he said. “Nothing could make me part with my telescope. Here it is. Come on.”
“I don’t wanta look now, kid,” said The Whimperer. “I—I kinda lost me appetite fer de udder universes. Five hundred smackers! Gawd A’mighty!”
For the remainder of that night, while they waited for a train, The Whimperer sat lost in thought. They caught a freight bound west at midnight, and next morning Joshua was rudely shaken to a realization of the stern realities of life by a dark-browed brakeman.
He sprang erect, ready to defend himself against this common enemy of tramps, and found that he had no companion to aid him. At some stop during the night while Joshua slept The Whimperer had left the train—and the telescope had gone with him.