Jim nodded. The point wasn’t important to him, and he was trying to think of some way in which to get the other fifty cents of the four dollars. The clerk took three dollars and a half from his pocket, handed the sum across the counter and the transaction was completed. Jim hurried out. Had he passed that way half an hour later and looked in the left-hand window he would have seen his ball prominently displayed above a card on which was printed: “Shopworn--A Bargain at $4.50.” Further along on the opposite side of the street was a tiny jewelry store. On the single narrow window was printed “The Diamond Palace--I. Kohn & Son.” Crossing the street, Jim removed his cuff-links. Whether they were solid gold or merely plated had never interested him before, but he hoped now that they were solid. They were, and after Mr. Kohn, Junior, a personable youth with extremely red cheeks, a diminutive black mustache and brilliantly shining hair smoothed back from his forehead, had carefully satisfied himself on that point he asked severely: “You want to sell them?” Jim said that he did. Young Mr. Kohn shrugged, laid them back on a rusty square of purple velvet and pushed the square toward the customer. “We don’t buy second-hand jewelry,” he said. Jim picked up the links. “If you want to sell those for old gold, we’ll pay you what they’re worth.” Jim hesitated. “How much?” he asked. Mr. Kohn, Junior, weighed the links on a small scales, out of sight of Jim, by the way, and replied; “A dollar and a half. They don’t weigh quite so much, but I’ll call it a dollar and a half even.” “They’re worth more than that,” answered Jim, remembering that there were at least six more jewelry stores in town. “Not for old gold they ain’t.” “Well, I guess I don’t want to sell them,” said Jim. “How much you think they’re worth?” asked the other, still keeping the cuff-links. “Two dollars.” “You’re making fun of me,” answered the other, smiling patiently. “I ain’t saying they ain’t worth two dollars to you for cuff-links, because maybe they’d be worth three, but for old gold--” “All right,” replied Jim, holding out his hand. “Say, ain’t you one of the fellows that plays with the football team over to the Academy?” asked young Mr. Kohn. “Yes.” “Sure! I recognized you when I see you coming in the door. You was playing in that game last week, wasn’t you? Sure! Well, now, listen, to you I’ll say a dollar and seventy-five cents. If papa was here he’d skin me, but I’m a great feller for football, and--” Jim was pointing through the top of the case to a pair of cheap imitation gold cuff-links fixed in a small card. “I’ll let you have them for a dollar, seventy-five and those links there.” “I couldn’t, positively!” Mr. Kohn, Junior, extracted the links in question from the tray and read the cryptic figures on a corner of the soiled card. “Say, you know what these sell for. Sixty-five cents! Look for yourself!”