"Down at the armory," said Mrs. Cook. "I wish it was all over." "I wonder if I can go down and see him," said Bob eagerly. "Perhaps," said his mother. "I don't know." She turned away and Bob hurried out of the house and turned his steps towards the garage. His plan was to get his bicycle and ride down to the armory. He entered the garage just in time to see Heinrich, the chauffeur, stuffing a large roll of bills into his pocket. "Whew, Heinie!" he exclaimed. "Where did you get all the money?" Heinrich seemed much embarrassed at being thus interrupted and colored violently. "Golly," said Bob, "I never saw so much money in all my life." "Dot's not so much," said Heinrich. "Besides it iss mine." "I didn't say it wasn't," laughed Bob. Heinrich Muller was the Cooks' chauffeur. He was a German, as his name implies, but he had been in the United States for over twenty years and had originally come into the employ of the Cook family as a coachman. Then when the automobile had taken the place of the horse to such a large extent he had been converted into a chauffeur. He was a mild mannered, quiet little man, and had always been a prime favorite with the children of the neighborhood. He could do wonderful things with a jackknife and the whistles, canes, swords and other toys he had made for the Cook children had often filled their friends with envy. He wore thick glasses with gold rims and was very bow-legged. He always said that his legs were crooked because he had ridden horseback so much when he was a young German cavalry trooper. He was a skillful man with horses, and had never liked an automobile half as much. He loved all animals and they seemed to love him too. At the present time his pets consisted of a small woolly dog, an angora cat, a parrot, and an alligator. The last named pet he kept in an old wash tub, half full of water, and called him Percy. He used to talk to all his pets as if they were human beings, Percy included, and many people had ventured the opinion that his brain was not quite as good as it should be. "A little bit cracked, but harmless and faithful," was the way Bob's father described him. Bob had never seen Heinrich so upset as he was that afternoon. He put the rolls of bills in his pocket and looked at Bob fiercely through his thick glass spectacles. His watery blue eyes looked almost ferocious. "What do you want here?" he demanded. "My bicycle," said Bob. "It iss got a puncture," said Heinrich. "Oh, Heinrich," Bob exclaimed. "Why didn't you fix it?" "I had no time so far." "I need a new one anyway," said Bob, looking at his wheel where it rested against the wall of the garage. "This one is six years old." "It iss one bunch of junk," said Heinrich. "Right you are," laughed Bob. "I tell you what, Heinrich; you've got a lot of money now, why don't you buy me a new one for my birthday?" "Dot iss my money," said Heinrich insistently.