Jack stared unbelievingly. “What for? What’s the joke?”
“For seventy-five dollars,” replied Joe, smilingly. “And I got it, or most of it.”
“Say, are you batty?” demanded Jack impatiently. “What seventy-five dollars? What’s the big idea?”
So Joe told his story once more, while Jack’s eyes got bigger and rounder and he hurled questions at the narrator breathlessly. And when he had heard all about it and had had every last detail explained to his satisfaction he deliberately kicked over a chair.
“Wouldn’t that make you sick?” he exclaimed. “I have to go and get quinsy and lose all that fun! Of course Young couldn’t have sneaked off when I was well! Oh, dear, no! It had to be when I was laid up! Hang the luck, anyway! Say, if I’d been along, Joey, I’d have punched his head!”
“Just as well you weren’t, then,” laughed Joe. “As it was, everything went off quietly and strictly according to the rules-book.”
“Well, what do you know about it!” marvelled Jack. “Joey, when they named you ‘Lucky’ Faulkner they hit it just about right! Why, you didn’t have one chance in ten thousand to get that money back!”
“I guess that’s so. Come to think of it, Jack, I didn’t get it back. It was Mr. Graham did it.”
“Never mind who did it, you brought it home. Now what are we going to do for someone to look after the stand?”
“I’ve been thinking that the best thing would be to put the tin box back for a few days. School closes Thursday, and after that we can look after it ourselves.”