Grover Beech looked up a bit startledly from the morning paper. “Eh? Oh, that you, Tucker? Eighty-five cents?” Beech’s countenance grew troubled. “I’m awfully afraid I can’t, old man. I’m just about stone broke. Tell you what, though; I’ll send it to you to-morrow.” Perhaps the expression of disappointment on Toby’s face touched him then, for he hesitated, thrust a hand into his pocket and brought it out filled with change. “Never mind,” he said. “I’ve got it here, I guess. If I run short I’ll make a touch somewhere. Here you are. Fifty, sixty, seventy――mind some coppers?――eighty――and five is eighty-five. That right?” “Yes, thanks. I wouldn’t have asked for it, only――” “That’s all right, old man.” Beech waved a slim hand. “Glad to pay when I can. When I get back I’ll start another bill! Merry Christmas, Tucker. Say, where do you live, eh?” “Greenhaven, Long Island,” replied Toby, carefully scoring out the item of indebtedness in his little book and then as carefully dropping the coins into his purse. “That’s near by, eh? Lucky guy! I’ve got to go all the way to Baltimore. Beastly trip. Be good, Tucker. So long!” Encouraged, Toby continued his explorations. Half-way along the next car he discovered his quarry. Frank Lamson, a big-framed youth of sixteen, with very black hair and dark eyes in a good-looking if somewhat saturnine face, was seated on the arm of a chair, one of a group of four or five who were laughing and chatting together. Toby hesitated about broaching the subject of his errand under the circumstances, but Frank happened to look up at the moment and greeted him. “Hello, Toby,” he called in his usual patronizing and slightly ironical way. “How’s business? Pressing?” The joke won laughter from the others of the group, one boy, seated on an upturned suit-case, almost losing his balance. Toby smiled. The joke was an old one and he had become used to smiling at it. “No,” he replied, “business isn’t pressing, Frank, but bills are. I wish you’d let me have a dollar and five cents, will you? I need some money pretty badly.” Frank Lamson frowned and then laughed. “So do I, Toby, old scout. Need it like anything. Bet you a dollar I need it more than you do.” “I don’t believe you do,” answered Toby soberly. “I wouldn’t ask you for it, Frank, but I’m pretty short――” “You’ll grow, Tucker,” said the boy on the suit-case, with a giggle. “Toby,” said Frank blandly, “I’d pay you in a minute if I had the money. But I’ve only just got enough to get home on. As it is, I’ll probably have to borrow from the butler to pay the taxi man! I’ll settle up right after vacation, though, honest Injun. How’ll that do?” “I’d rather have it now,” replied Toby, “or some of it. Suppose you pay fifty cents on account?”