Johnny did not appear to share fully in his enthusiasm.
“It’s all right,” he hesitated, “and I’d like to do it. It would be a wonderful experience, but—but there’s that chummy roadster I was salvaging and was to have at cost. It’s two-thirds done. It will mean a long wait. I—I’d like to finish it.”
“I see,” said the manager, stroking his chin. “You want a car of your own—that’s natural. I suppose most boys do.”
“It’s not that,” Johnny hesitated, then added: “Not that at all, sir. I want to finish it to sell.”
“Sell it?” His employer stared.
“Yes, sir! I have a debt.”
“A debt?” The manager’s eyes registered disapproval. “A boy of your age shouldn’t have debts.”
Johnny got red in the face, hesitated a moment, then blurted out: “It’s not my debt. My father’s debt, but one he would have paid every cent of had he lived.”
“Your father’s debt?” the manager asked with a curious change of tone. “Yes, he would have paid it. I believe you. And you want to pay by selling the car you have salvaged?”
“Yes, sir; part of it.” Johnny’s eyes were upon the floor.