“I don’t know why Bob hasn’t wired,” he said, “but we’ve got the honey and it’s as safe as money in the bank. It’s only a matter of a few hours, or days, at the most. If you’ll give us a little extension of time we’ll gladly pay you for it. Anything you wish, five dollars, or ten dollars a day, even.”
But the postmaster shook his head with a grim smile.
“I’ll give you all the time the law allows, and not an hour longer!” he said.
“Yes, but can’t you—”
“No, I can’t. I told you out and out at the start that you’d get no kindness from me—straight business and nothing further.”
He refused to hear a word of Carl’s protestations, and at last the boy went to the hotel, indignant and keenly anxious. Alice had had no message. They waited, staying near the telephone, unable to read, unable to talk, till, about four o’clock, a call came for Carl.
Almost breathless, he took the receiver, and recognized Bob’s long-distance voice.
“Is that you, Bob?” he cried. “What have you done? Farr won’t give us an hour’s time.”
“Never mind!” came his brother’s reassuring voice. “It’s all right. I sold at ten and a half. I’ve got the money and I’ll wire it at once.”
Ten and a half! They had not expected to get over ten cents for the extracted honey. Carl almost shouted, and Alice gasped with relief when he told her. It seemed as if a mountain’s weight had been lifted off their shoulders.