"Come off it, Jim. Are you practicing to be a stuffed shirt? I admit it's a rib. Something Star dropped the other day. A manufacturer's idea of kid advertising, no doubt."
"I'm in dead earnest, Peter," he answered. "It's no advertising gadget."
"It means something?"
In college, Jim could take a practical joke and make six out of it.
"I don't know what it means. Where did Star get it?" He was being pretty crisp about it.
"Oh, I don't know," I said. I was getting a little fed up; the joke wasn't going according to plan. "Never asked her. You know how kids clutter up the place with their things. No father even tries to keep track of all the junk that can be bought with three box tops and a dime."
"This was not bought with three box tops and a dime," he spaced his words evenly. "This was not bought anywhere, for any price. In fact, if you want to be logical about it, this coin doesn't exist at all."
I laughed out loud. This was more like the old Jim.
"Okay, so you've turned the gag back on me. Let's call it quits. How about coming over to supper some night soon?"
"I'm coming over, my friend." He remained grim as he said it. "And I'm coming over tonight. As soon as you will be home. It's no gag I'm pulling. Can you get that through your stubborn head? You say you got it from Star, and of course I believe you. But it's no toy. It's the real thing." Then, as if in profound puzzlement, "Only it isn't."