“How much have you got?” William queried.
“How much have you?”
“If this was San Francisco I could get a hundred.”
“What have you got in real coin, Bill?” Tony joined in.
“Three nickles,” William Williams admitted moodily.
“I've got thirty-five cents,” Thomas added. “I wish I could get a piece of change.”
“How's the car?” Anthony turned to hiss partner in the lull that followed. The “car,” their sole professional charge, had been placed in their hands by an optimistic and benevolent connection of the Balls.
“I had the differential apart again to-day,” Alfred responded, “but I can't find that grinding anywhere. It will have to be all torn down,” he announced with sombre enthusiasm.
“You have had that dam' thing apart three times in the last four weeks, and every time you put it together it's worse,” Anthony protested; “the cylinder casing leaks, and God knows what you did to the gears.”
“I wish I had a piece of change,” Thomas Meredith repeated, in a manner patently mysterious.