“We may have to camp out some nights,” said Fred, “and live on what we can find. There are lots of things you can find in the woods and fields to live on; but some of them ain’t good without salt—mushrooms, for instance.” Fred was very fond of mushrooms.
“And is the string to tie up the bags of money?” said I—not meaning to be at all sarcastic.
“O, no!” said Fred; “but string’s always handy to have. We may want to set snares for game, or tie up things that break, or catch fish. And then if you have to stay all night in a house where the people look suspicious, you can fix a string so that if any one opens the door of your room, it’ll wake you up.”
“If that happened, you’d want a pistol—wouldn’t you?” said I. “Or else it wouldn’t do much good to be waked up.”
“I’d take a pistol, if I had one,” said Fred; “but I can get along without it. You can always hit ’em over the head with a chair, or a pitcher, or something. You know you can swing a pitcher full of water around quick, and not spill a drop; and if you should hit a man a fair blow with it, ’twould knock him senseless. Besides, it’s dangerous using a pistol in a house. Sometimes the bullets go through the wall, and kill innocent persons.”
“We don’t want to do that,” said I.
“No,” said Fred; “that would be awful unlucky.”
Then he felt of the handkerchief again, said he guessed it was dry enough, and took it off from the line.
“Fred,” said I, “how much is a fortune?”
“That depends on your ideas,” said Fred, as he smoothed the handkerchief over his knee. “I should not be satisfied with less than a hundred thousand dollars.”