They were silent for a while. Tom drew The Ark up in front of his house and poked the switch off with his foot and they sat there in the shade of a big maple and thought hard. It was Tom who finally broke the silence. “Jerry Lippit’s father has a horse, hasn’t he?” he asked suddenly. “Yes, a sort of a horse,” answered Willard. “But I don’t believe he’d let us have him. He’s about a thousand years old; the horse, I mean.” “I didn’t think you meant Mr. Lippit,” replied Tom sarcastically. “There isn’t any harm in asking, anyhow. Let’s find Jerry and get him to ask his father.” “I don’t believe they have a wagon, though,” said Willard, as he descended to crank the engine. “We can find a wagon somewhere easily enough. Saunders has a lot of second-hand ones and I guess we could rent one if we wanted to.” Jerry Lippit, however, was not at home, and the boys spent the better part of an hour tracking him down. They finally discovered him at Spider Wells’, half-way up The Hill. Jerry and Spider were concocting marvelous beverages on the back porch with the aid of much ice, a bowl of sugar, three lemons and a bottle of vanilla flavoring extract. Tom and Willard sampled the concoction, and, from motives of diplomacy, voted it fine. Then, resolutely declining second helpings, they unfolded their story, and Jerry was instantly filled with wild enthusiasm. Likewise Spider. “Great!” exulted Jerry. “You can take Julius Cæsar, of course! And we’ll get a wagon from Saunders and Spider and I will drive it. That’s dandy!” Tom viewed Willard in dismay, but the latter never batted an eyelid. “Fine!” he agreed. “Only thing is, I’m afraid you fellows will get tired of it and then we’ll be just where we are now. Unless you’d still let us use the horse. Of course we’ll pay for him.” “We aren’t going to get tired, are we, Spider? Anyhow, if we do, you can still have Julius Cæsar. I’ll ask father this noon. How much shall I say you want to pay for him?” “I don’t know,” replied Willard. “You see, Jerry, we’d feed him and look after him, and that costs a good deal. I guess you’d better let your father fix the price.” “All right. I guess he’ll be glad to have someone take the old horse off his hands and use him for his keep. He’s talked lots of times about selling him, but we’ve had him so long he don’t hardly like to do it, you see. Why, I suppose we’ve had Julius Cæsar ’most twenty years!” “Great Scott!” gasped Tom. “How old is he?” Jerry shook his head. “I don’t know,” he answered vaguely. “Maybe thirty or forty.” “Pshaw,” said Spider, “horses don’t live that long, ever; do they, Will?” “None of mine ever did,” replied Willard gravely. “Can he――can he go, Jerry?” “You bet he can! ’Course, he ain’t awfully fast now, you understand, but he used to do a mile in two-ten――――” “Oh, what a whopper!” shouted Spider. “Well, two-something,” amended Jerry untroubledly. “Maybe it was two-forty.”