When Arnold had disappeared down the aisle Toby produced a pocket-book and gravely and a trifle anxiously examined the contents. To-morrow he meant to go shopping for presents for the folks in Greenhaven, and the subject of funds was an important one. The pocket-book held four folded bills and quite a pile of silver and small coins, but when Toby had carefully counted it all up the result was not reassuring. He had his fare to Greenhaven to pay to-morrow, his fare to New York on Monday, his fare back to Greenhaven the last of the week, and, finally, his fare all the way to Wissining the following Tuesday. He would not, he thought grimly, be riding in a parlor car on that return trip! The funds in hand consisted of exactly twelve dollars and forty-eight cents. Toby replaced the pocket-book, drew out a little black memorandum and a pencil and proceeded to figure. He frowned frequently during the procedure, and once he sighed disappointedly. After traveling expenses had been allowed for only seven dollars and a half remained, and seven dollars and a half wasn’t nearly as much as he had hoped to be able to expend for Christmas presents. Why, the shaving set he had meant to give his father would cost all of five dollars, and that would leave but two dollars and a half with which to purchase presents for his mother and his sister Phebe and Long Tim and Shorty Joe and――Oh dear, he had quite forgotten Arnold! He turned some pages in the memorandum book and read thoughtfully down the list of items there. “Beech, .85; Framer, .30; Williams, .45; Hove, .15; Lamson, 1.05; Hurd, .45.” He stopped, although there were more entries, and went back to that Lamson item. Frank was on the train somewhere and perhaps he might be persuaded to pay up. He had owed most of that dollar-five since October and ought to be willing to settle. If he had that it would help considerably. And perhaps he could find Beech too. He considered a minute and then left his seat and surveyed the car. There was quite a sprinkling of fellows he knew by sight or well enough to speak to there, but Frank Lamson was not of them. He started off toward the rear of the train. Near the door he spoke to a boy in a shiny derby and a wonderful brown overcoat. “Hello, Tucker! What say? Frank Lamson? Yes, I saw him on the platform. He’s here somewhere, I guess. Unless he got left!” Jim Rose chuckled. “But I don’t suppose he did. I never knew him to!” Toby passed on to the next car and wormed his way between boys and bags, nodding occasionally, speaking once or twice, but without success until he sighted a tall, thin youth of eighteen who sat with his long legs almost doubled to his chin, reading a paper. Toby leaned over the back of his chair. “I say, Beech, would it be convenient for you to let me have that eighty-five cents? I’m sort of short just now, or I wouldn’t ask you for it.”