"Knocking!" cried Jack. "You're knocking! I'll tell Walter. You called him a—"
"A first-rate chap, and I mean it!" insisted Ed warmly. "That's just what I think of Walter Pennington."
"Well, you know what I've always thought of him," and Jack was equally enthusiastic. "Walter is the kind of a fellow that will keep without canning."
"Meaning some others won't—such as Sid, for example?"
"Well, he's very `close' sometimes, so to speak. At least very hard to understand. But let's talk about something else. When do you go over to the bank, to stand and deliver your good cash, bonds and securities for their stock?"
"This very afternoon, may it please the court. And, by the same token, I should be getting home now. Hope we won't meet anyone, or they might ask, as Sid did, if I'd been clamming. I can't seem to keep out of the mud."
They gathered up their fishing paraphernalia and walked out to the highway.
"Are you and your money going over in the machine?" asked Jack.
"Certainly. Why not? Henry Porter is going to loan me his runabout."
"Oh, I suppose it's all right, but it's a lot of money to carry with you alone—twenty thousand dollars."