“He will. He said he would. And the chap who sold these says we must have a wet sponge in the case to keep the cigars moist. So I got one. Also a five-cent glass dish to put it in. Run upstairs and get it wet, will you, while I arrange these?” “All right. How much do those cigars sell for apiece, Joey?” “The man said twenty-five cents, but I don’t suppose Mr. Adams pays that much at his club for them. I thought I’d ask him. We can sell them at twenty cents and still make a good profit.” “Twenty-five cents!” murmured Jack. “Think of paying that much for one cigar! And they don’t look much, either.” “You happen to be looking at the ten-centers,” laughed Joe. “The others are here.” He opened the lid of the flat box and revealed a row of greenish-black cigars quite different from the others in appearance and aroma. “I guess these are something extra, eh?” “Must be, but I think anyone’s a chump to pay a quarter for a cigar,” responded Jack. “Where’s your old sponge?” Business that evening was brisk and the seventy-five copies of the _Recorder_ disappeared like magic and Jack had to hurry out on the sidewalk and buy extra copies from a newsboy. “Tomorrow we’ll get a hundred,” said Joe. “If we don’t sell them they can go back.” By closing time three dollars and thirty-four cents had been added to the amount in the box, swelling the total sales for the day to over fourteen dollars! That evening, in Jack’s room, they tried to figure their profits. They had taken in in the two days exactly seventeen dollars and forty-four cents. Since, however, they had not been able to enter each sale as made, it was difficult to arrive at the desired result. They knew that on each morning or afternoon paper they made a profit of one cent, that on each half-pound box of candy they made eight cents, that magazines netted from four to six cents, and that cigars, cigarettes, and tobacco sold for from ten to twenty-five per cent. above cost. After much figuring they came to the conclusion that their profits were represented by about one-quarter of the amount taken in, or practically four dollars and thirty cents. “And at that rate,” said Joe, “we ought to make a monthly profit of about one hundred and twelve dollars!” Jack stared unbelievingly. Then his face fell. “But we’ve got to pay the rent out of that,” he mourned. Joe laughed. “You’re getting to be a regular Shylock, old man! The rent is only eighteen and that leaves us ninety-four. And besides that we haven’t to pay any this month.” Jack brightened again. “That makes forty-seven dollars a month for each of us, doesn’t it? And that’s nearly twelve dollars a week! Joey, we’ll be millionaires before we know it!” “Well, it pays better than carrying that newspaper route! Another thing, Jack; there’s no reason why we shouldn’t do better as time goes on. We can keep other things, you know, like post-cards and――Look here, why not get a good line of Amesville views?” “Views? What sort of views?”