All of a sudden he laid the book down open and laid the bill on it and then he laid the oar-lock on the bill. Then he just sat there like as if he was studying. Pretty soon he said, “We have to get a new copy for the library, anyway. Do you mind if I make another stain on this one? I’ve got a sort of an idea.” “Go ahead,” I said. So now I’ll tell you just what he did and you’ll see how it solved the puzzle. And, believe me, you’ll have to admit that Westy’s a pretty smart fellow. If you have an old book you don’t care anything about, you can even try it and you don’t even need an oar-lock. Westy turned to a new place in the book and then he laid the bill down on the right hand page. Then he laid the oar-lock on the bill. “That’s just exactly what you did when you laid the bill down in such a hurry that night you were fixing Skinny up. You laid it on the open book just like that—see?” “Maybe I did.” I said, “but what’s the big idea, kind sir?” “Well, then,” he said, “I came up here to get your two bucks for you, didn’t I? And you remember I told you there was a breeze blowing? Now what did I do—in the dark?” “Search me,” I said. “Why, you big galook, I felt around in the dark and lifted the oar-lock off the bill and then felt there for it, but the breeze was too quick for me. It blew the page over and I slapped my hand down on—what?” “Another page,” I said; “_good night!_” “Good-bye two dollar bill,” he said, “it was between those two other pages. That’s why there was a stain on the right page in the book. There was a stain on the bill made by the oar-lock and when the page and the bill blew over, the fresh oil on the bill kind of stamped itself on the left hand page. _You_ didn’t damage the book. _You_ only damaged the bill. It was the _breeze_ that damaged the book—see?” “Believe me! I’ll be responsible,” I told him. “That breeze was a thief,” he said. “It’ll come to grief some day,” I told him. Then we both began to laugh. “And it’s lucky I got that book out of the library,” he said. “There was your two bucks tucked away all nice and neat between the pages. It was just where Jim Hawkins was starting away on the ship.” “Narrow escape,” I said, “hey? If you hadn’t taken the book out just when you did, _good night_, the ship might have started and good-bye to my two dollars.” “You crazy Indian,” he said. “And all the time I was saying Jim Hawkins was honest and a good friend and all that, and all the time he had my two bucks.” “Believe me I wouldn’t trust that fellow with a postage stamp,” Westy said. Laugh! Oh, boy, I thought I’d die laughing—and Westy, too. CHAPTER XXVIII JOLLYING PEE-WEE