They had pretty well scoured the area in which the flung coin would be likely to fall, and just as Fibsy sang out, "Give it up, Samivel, until this afternoon," the lad found it.
"Here's dime!" he cried, picking it from the grass. "Sammy find it all aloney!"
"Good for you, old chap! You're a trump! Hooray!"
"But give Sammy dimes—two—three dimes."
"You bet I will! Here—here are five dimes for Sammy!"
Eagerly the innocent received the coins, and scampered away, having no further interest in the one he had found.
Fibsy examined the dime, but could see no engraving on it, nor any letters other than those the United States Mint had put there.
The date was 1892, if that meant anything.
Carefully wrapping it in a bit of paper, Fibsy stowed it in his pocket and went into the house to await Fleming Stone's return.
And when Stone did return, it required no great discernment to see that he was dejected and discouraged.