"I know," agreed Billie miserably.
"I don't think Dad will be able to make it good just now," went on Chet, in that sober tone that made people in North Bend feel confidence in Chetwood Bradley, young as he yet was. "I heard him say the other day that all his capital was tied up. And then it costs so much to live—"
"Oh, I know all that!" broke in Billie desperately, then added, looking up at her brother appealingly: "Chet dear, I've got to find the money to replace that statue some way! Won't you help me?"
"You bet your life I will," cried Chet, with a hearty boyishness that made Billie's eyes glow. "I'll do everything I can, Sis. I tell you—" he paused as a thought struck him.
"Oh, what?" she cried, grasping his arm as he started from the room. "Oh,
Chet, tell me."
"I'll show you in a minute," he promised, and was off, up the stairs, taking them three at a time, judging from the noise he made.
In what seemed to Billie no time at all he was back again, holding something in his hand that jingled.
"Here's a dollar and fifteen cents," he said, holding out to her all his available wealth. "I almost forgot I had it. You can use it to start the fund."
"Oh, Chet!" Billie's eyes were wet and she hugged him fondly. "You're the very darlingest brother I ever had!"
"And the only one—" Chet was beginning, when Billie interrupted him by breaking away and putting a finger to her forehead.