"And now, see here, fellows, we want to get around into the stores before we lose any more time," suggested Dick. "We don't want to forget that each fellow is to spend half his money in buying the best present he can get for his mother."
"Do you think it will pay—in my case?" asked Dan dolefully.
"Shame on you, Danny boy!" growled Dave Darrin, giving Dalzell a sturdy shaking.
"Was there ever a time that it didn't pay a fellow to remember his mother whenever he had a chance?" demanded Dick. "If my mother had said 'no' and had stuck to it, I'd be mighty glad over being able to get her a solid Christmas present just the same."
Within another hour the presents had been bought, the crowd sticking together and giving collective advice for the benefit of each individual.
Then Dick went home. Instead of passing through the store, where both his parents were, he took out his key and made for the door that admitted to the living rooms above. Over the knob was tacked a piece of paper. Dick took it off and carried it upstairs with him, where, in the light of the parlor, he read this message, in scrawling print:
"Wait and see if you ain't sorry!"
"This must be from the fit-thrower!" thought young Prescott, with an inward jump.
He was soon to know.