“What for?”
“This engine of yours will never carry you that far.”
“Hey!” yipped Red, grinning. “Don’t you run down our swell engine.”
“It’s an old engine and liable to go blooey at any minute. I wouldn’t trust it two miles, myself.”
“If it breaks down,” boasted Red, “I can fix it.”
In our further talk, Dad made it plain to us that he wasn’t keen about letting us start out in the scow. He couldn’t bring himself to believe, he said, serious, that we would be able to go very many miles without a serious breakdown.
But he had promised to let me go camping when the other fellows went. And, as they had gained their parents’ consent to the trip, he couldn’t very well say “no” to me without backing down on his word.
So I finally got his reluctant consent.
That day we put a bigger advertisement in the [[70]]Daily Globe, for the coming show was to be our last one in Tutter until we had returned from our out-of-town trip. When the advertising bill had been paid, I sort of balanced my accounts, if that is the way to express it. Here is the way my figures looked on paper:
| Scoop | $7 | .00 | Engine | $3 | .00 |
| Red | 10 | .00 | Organ | 2 | .00 |
| Peg | 3 | .00 | Shaft | .50 | |
| Jerry | 10 | .00 | Tickets | 1 | .00 |
| Working capital | $30 | .00 | Advertising | 2 | .00 |
| Ticket sales | 7 | .00 | Ice Cream | .50 | |
| Total | $37 | .00 | Advertising | 3 | .00 |
| (Sub.) Expenses | 12 | .00 | Total expenses | $12 | .00 |
| Cash on hand | $25 | .00 | |||