Encouraged, Toby continued his explorations. Half-way along the next car he discovered his quarry. Frank Lamson, a big-framed youth of sixteen, with very black hair and dark eyes in a good-looking if somewhat saturnine face, was seated on the arm of a chair, one of a group of four or five who were laughing and chatting together. Toby hesitated about broaching the subject of his errand under the circumstances, but Frank happened to look up at the moment and greeted him.
“Hello, Toby,” he called in his usual patronizing and slightly ironical way. “How’s business? Pressing?”
The joke won laughter from the others of the group, one boy, seated on an upturned suit-case, almost losing his balance. Toby smiled. The joke was an old one and he had become used to smiling at it.
“No,” he replied, “business isn’t pressing, Frank, but bills are. I wish you’d let me have a dollar and five cents, will you? I need some money pretty badly.”
Frank Lamson frowned and then laughed. “So do I, Toby, old scout. Need it like anything. Bet you a dollar I need it more than you do.”
“I don’t believe you do,” answered Toby soberly. “I wouldn’t ask you for it, Frank, but I’m pretty short—”
“You’ll grow, Tucker,” said the boy on the suit-case, with a giggle.
“Toby,” said Frank blandly, “I’d pay you in a minute if I had the money. But I’ve only just got enough to get home on. As it is, I’ll probably have to borrow from the butler to pay the taxi man! I’ll settle up right after vacation, though, honest Injun. How’ll that do?”
“I’d rather have it now,” replied Toby, “or some of it. Suppose you pay fifty cents on account?”
“Fifty cents! My word, the fellow talks like a millionaire! Say, Toby, if you’re short go and borrow some from Arnold. He’s simply rolling in wealth. He always is. And, say, if he comes across, touch him for a couple of dollars for me, will you?”