Back at Tim’s house, they set to work on the lawn and the side yard, and for nearly an hour the two mowers droned in the hot sunlight of mid-forenoon. At last the work was done and the machines put away and the boys found a shaded spot under a big maple in Tim’s yard and went to planning. Tim’s enthusiasm was now equal quite to Pud’s as, pencil in hand, he set down item after item on a short length of clean white pine board. ‘Golly,’ he said, having corrected ‘beens’ to ‘beans’ at the bottom of the long list, ‘I wish we were going to-morrow, Pud, instead of Monday!’ ‘So do I.’ Pud’s tone held an emphasis that brought an inquiring look from his companion. ‘I’ve got to do a lot of work before Monday,’ Pud sighed. ‘You see――say, I didn’t tell you about Mr. Tully, the Baptist minister, did I? That was yesterday, and――and I didn’t see you yesterday,’ Pud ended hastily. ‘What about him?’ demanded Tim eagerly. So Pud narrated the event and its results, Tim chuckling wickedly at times. The finish of the tale held little of humor, though. ‘Dad gave me fits,’ said Pud moodily. ‘Made me promise not to do it again and said I had to apologize to Mr. Tully.’ ‘Did you?’ inquired Tim interestedly. Pud shook his head. ‘Not yet. I’m going to after dinner.’ ‘Oh, that isn’t so bad.’ ‘But that isn’t all of it,’ responded the other sadly. ‘I’ve got to go to dad’s office to-morrow and Saturday and help fold a lot of circulars; ’most four thousand of them. He said that was for punishment. Gee, I hate folding circulars!’ ‘Four thousand!’ Tim whistled expressively. ‘You got to do them all?’ ‘No, I don’t suppose so. He said I was to help Jimmy, one of the men in the shop. But I’ll bet I’ll have to do most of ’em!’ ‘And that’s why we can’t start till Monday?’ ‘Yes. And if they aren’t all done, we can’t get going even then!’ There was silence under the elm. Then Tim asked: ‘Is it hard? Folding circulars, I mean.’ ‘No, it ain’t hard,’ answered Pud despondently, ‘but it’s awful monotonous. You just fold ’em so’――he illustrated sketchily――‘and crease ’em with a wooden ruler, so’――a second illustration――‘and then you do it again, and that’s all.’ ‘Could I do it, Pud?’ Pud looked across swiftly, his brown eyes lighting as if they saw a wonderful vision. ‘Sure!’ he cried. ‘All right, then,’ said Tim, ‘I’ll help you.’ Pud nodded radiantly. Then his face sobered and his gaze dropped and another silence held for a moment. Finally, ‘Say, Tim,’ he muttered, ‘I guess maybe I was wrong the other day about you having to know more to be an editor than to be a contractor.’ ‘Oh, shut up,’ said Tim testily. ‘You weren’t either. What’ll I put down after “beans”?’ CHAPTER III THE KISMET STARTS ON HER VOYAGE ‘Shove her off there!’