“To-morrow afternoon, sir, if we want it at all.”
“I’ll have it ready for you. I’m glad you’re going to share the risk with him, Willard. Two heads are better than one. Besides, if the plan fails, you’ll each stand to lose less. That all you wanted, Tom?”
“Yes, sir. I’m awfully much obliged, father. And—and, if we buy that car, we’re going to make a go of it, aren’t we, Will?”
“We certainly are! We’ve got to!”
They climbed over a pile of empty mail bags and made their way out of the post-office with jubilant faces.
“Isn’t that great?” demanded Tom.
“Fine and dandy! Now, let’s hustle down and find this fellow Brennan. We’ve got to persuade him to look that car over to-night.”
It was a good stiff walk to the railroad, and then they had to go along the track for some distance to where Gerrish & Hanford’s machine shop stood—a rickety, brown, wooden building, filled with the din and clatter of machinery. Jimmy Brennan proved to be a small, red-haired chap, some four years older than Willard. He had a smooch of black grease on his tilted nose, which lent his countenance quite a weird expression. Jimmy—for it wasn’t long before they were calling him that—heard their errand and asked no questions until Willard had finished. Then:
“Sure,” he agreed. “I’ll look her over for you, but I don’t see how I can do it to-night, boys. I got a sort of an engagement for this evening. Maybe to-morrow night——”