“You see now what a fool you are,” he exclaimed. “You might just as well have the money if you had brains. Now you won’t get a cent.”
“I don’t want it,” replied Jimmy quietly, “and if you think you can hold me a prisoner till after the race you are mistaken.”
“Is that so?” sneered Jones. “And how do you figure you are going to get away?”
“That is my business,” said Jimmy.
Jones laughed aloud. He got up from his chair and went toward the door.
“I’m going out for a few minutes,” he said, “and I am going to lock you in. You can yell all you please. No one will pay any attention to you.”
He went through the door, and Jimmy heard the key turn in the lock on the outside. No sooner had the man gone than Jimmy walked quickly toward a little window in the back of the room and looked out. Then he shook his head gloomily.
Suddenly he was struck with an idea. He drew a piece of paper and a pencil from his pocket, and seating himself at the table wrote rapidly. Then again he approached the window.
A few minutes later a small boy passed along the street below. Jimmy whistled sharply, and the boy looked up. Jimmy gesticulated violently, and the lad below stopped.
Quickly Jimmy drew out his pocket knife, and a silver quarter—all the money he had—and these he wrapped in the paper upon which he had written, and dropped them through the window.