Morey gathered up the loose coins, took the nickels from Amos’ clinched fingers and slowly dropped the treasure into his own pocket. The black boy gazed open mouthed—too alarmed to speak. This done, Morey took out his little note book, his pencil, and on a page of the book he wrote, hastily:
“I promise to pay Amos Green $4.58 one day after date, at 7% interest.
“Mortimer Marshall.”
“There, Amos, that’s a note. I’ve borrowed your money. You’ll get interest on it now. We’ll stop at the Grand Central Hotel in Centerville tonight like gentlemen. Giddap, Betty.”
And, while the stiffened old mare began trotting along again toward the village, Amos sat as if in a trance, with Morey’s note in his clumsy fingers.
[CHAPTER XII]
THE RUNAWAYS DISCOVERED.
A little after seven o’clock, those citizens of Centerville who were diligently loafing in front of the Center House, were amused to see a wobbling vehicle dash up to that hostelry with an extraordinary burst of speed. It was hardly necessary to check the steed that drew the Marshall surrey, for old Betty stopped of her own accord at sight of the water trough.
“Boy,” exclaimed Morey, in a gracious but positive command, “see to the animal.”