"Yes!" yelled Billy, joyously waving his slice of bread. "Two-twenty-four Jefferson Street, Pittsburg, Pennsylvania; population three hundred and twenty-one thousand. Sure! I was born there! That's where I live."
"But how," queried Henrietta, strong in all matters geographical, "could a person set sail from Pittsburg and be wrecked at Pete's Patch, Upper Michigan?"
"He couldn't," replied Mr. Black.
"Nevertheless," said Saunders, "I've sent notices to all the Pittsburg papers—what's that street number again?"
"I—I don't know," stammered Billy. "It's gone again. I guess it's easier to think when you're not trying to."
"Jefferson Street," supplied Marjory, who had remembered.
Billy nodded. "Yes," said he, "that sounds right. But how did you guess Pittsburg, Mr. Saunders?"
"In Mr. Blossom's note-book there was an item, under the heading 'Pittsburg,' that read: 'Paid Laddie one dollar.'"
"Wonder where it went?" said the boy, turning his empty pockets inside out.