He went down in the cellar and got out his bicycle, the only thing of value that he possessed. He took it out the cellar way and rode it downtown to Berly’s Bicycle Shop. It would probably be some days before either Mr. or Mrs. Walton would ask about the bicycle, and Hervey’s thought, as usual, did not reach beyond the immediate present. He did not like the idea of selling his bicycle; it had never seemed quite so dear to him as on that very ride downtown. But this was the only solution of his problem. Mr. Berly looked the machine over leisurely. “How much do you want for it?” he asked. It had never occurred to Hervey to ask for more than the sum he needed, but now he realized that he might sell the bicycle and be a millionaire in the bargain. “Would you give--twelve dollars for it?” he ventured timorously. Mr. Berly scrutinized him. “Your parents want you to sell it?” he asked. “Don’t it belong to me?” said Hervey uncomfortably. “Well, I think you better ask your folks about it first,” the dealer said. “See what they say, then if everything is all right you come back here and I’ll give you the right price for it.” Hervey’s hopes were dashed. He rode his bike down the street with an odd feeling of being both glad and sorry. But mainly he was worried, for time was precious and he knew he must do something. He stopped in front of the home of Harlem Hinkey and gave his familiar call. He hoped Hinkey would come out, yet somehow he hoped he wouldn’t come out. He hardly knew how he would approach the subject with Hinkey. The Hinkeys had a great deal of money and supplied their son rather too liberally with it. They had lately moved from New York, and since Hinkey was unpopular and Hervey was an odd number, they had struck up acquaintance. Hinkey was a devotee of the practical joke and his joy was always in proportion to the discomfort of his victims. He boasted much of his imperial status in Harlem where he had held sway until his father took over a motion picture theatre in Farrelton. He came sauntering out in response to Hervey’s call. And all inadvertently he made it easy for Hervey to begin. “You want to go down to the show?” Hinkey asked. “I would except for this blamed old bike,” said Hervey. “Bimbo, I’d sell the darned thing for five dollars, it’s such a blamed nuisance.” “What are you riding it for then?” “I’m just bringing it home from Berly’s Bicycle Shop,” said Hervey. “I never use it much. Places where I go, you couldn’t ride a bike. If you should meet any one that wants to buy a bike, let me know, will you?” “Sure,” said Hinkey, uninterested. “Do you want to buy it?” Hervey asked, emboldened. “What would I want to buy it for when I drive a car?” Hinkey asked.