The lad turned and started for the door. At that moment someone entered. It was the manager of the canary car.
"It's all right. I'll take the location," he announced, smiling broadly, as he walked rapidly to where the proprietor was standing, laying two tens and a five-dollar bill on the counter.
"I—I'm sorry," stammered the storekeeper, flushing. "I have just sold it to another party."
"Sold it!"
The manager's face went several shades paler.
"Yes."
"To—to whom?"
"To that young gentleman there."
The manager whirled and faced Phil.
"Who—who are you?"