He walked out of Bill's room, put the package with the remaining fifty dollars in his trunk and locked it. He wished he might save the original coins. It struck him he might borrow the fifty dollars from Mr. Thompson and give the gold coins as collateral. A fine notion! But to carry it out he would have to explain.
It was fully ten minutes before he went back to Bill's room. The coins were on the table. Tommy thought of a jest, of a scolding, of what he ought to say to Bill. In the end he said, very quietly:
“Please put it away, Bill. And I'd like you to come with me. We'll go out for a trolley ride.”
“All right,” said Bill. He hesitated, then as Tommy started to go out Bill put the money in his pocket-book and followed Tommy on tiptoe.
The two boys went out of the house in silence. They boarded an open car at the corner, sat together, rode to the end of the line, rode back, walked to the house and entered—all in silence. They went into Bill's room. They had been sitting there fully five minutes when Bill suddenly said:
“Say, Tommy?”
“What?”
“You know,” said Bill, timidly, “a kerosene-engine won't start cold.”
“I know it,” said Tommy, who had read up on the subject just as he used to bone at college just before examinations.
“I've a notion—”