“I see. Well, when that bill’s paid, son, we’ll give you a clear title to the pump as far as we’re concerned. What did you think of doing with it?”
“Just—just trying to sell it, sir. It ought to be worth something as junk, I should think.”
“Hm, I suppose so. You might be able to sell it for twenty dollars or so if it isn’t badly out of shape. Where’s he keeping it?”
“It’s under the barn. I had a look at it yesterday. It seems all right. I mean it isn’t rusted none. It’s all covered up.”
“Did your uncle say what the matter with it was?”
“N-no, sir. He said it wouldn’t work.”
“Probably didn’t know how to use it. I dare say it could be fixed up in a jiffy. If you get it and want to sell it, you let me know. Maybe I can find someone to take it off your hands. Better put a couple of those expansion bits back on the shelf. No use showing more than one of them.”
The store was closed at six and Tom, slipping off his blue overalls, went in search of supper. Afterward he sought his room and sat up until half-past nine studying his lessons for the morrow. When at last he piled into bed, he lay for some time very wide-awake with the unaccustomed screech and rush of passing trains and the dim hum of the city in his ears. Through the open window, behind the branches of the elm and above the distant house-tops, a half-moon was sailing. Tom, a trifle lonesome, wondered if Uncle Israel and Aunt Patty were missing him a little. He knew Star was. He wished he had Star with him here. He wished——
Whatever else he wished was in dreams.