“And then to think,” his tone changed, “to think of leaving it all for this dull, dusty earth again.”
“You won’t!” said Johnny, springing to his feet. “We’ll get that man, yes, and the jewels with him! You’ll see!”
Perhaps Curlie’s description of flying made the room seem stuffy. At least Johnny threw up a window. The stiff north wind entering at his bidding, caught a bit of paper and sent it fluttering to the floor. Another and yet another followed.
“What’s this?” Curlie leaned over to pick up the first one. “Money! A twenty, a ten and another twenty. And here comes a five. Why, man! You’re lousy with money!”
“That,” said Johnny rather soberly, “is marked money. I’ve not quite decided what to do with it. There’s something over a hundred and fifty dollars in all. When I was washed out of the tunnel, or carried out by some mysterious being, the roll got soggy wet. I put it up on the shelf there to dry and forgot it.
“Listen. I’ll tell you about it. Then you tell me what to do. I’d thought about giving part of it to that truck farmer who gambled and lost, but I’ll follow your advice.”
When Johnny had finished the story of his adventures on the carnival grounds, Curlie sat for a time in a brown study. “Of course,” he said at last, “you could give it back to that gambling truck farmer, if you succeeded in finding him. Fine chance, though. May have come twenty miles to that carnival.
“Besides, what’s the good? The poor goof would just throw up his hands and shout: ‘Boy, I’m lucky! I’ll say I’m lucky!’ Then he’d go somewhere else and lose it gambling. The real gambling habit is an incurable disease.
“On the other hand—” His face lit up with a kindly smile. “I know another farmer who never gambles, except as everyone does who plants a crop. He has a little girl, a cripple; but the cutest, most cheerful cripple in the world.
“You know—the one I was going to send a doll and doll buggy by parachute.