“How much do we owe you, please?” he asked. “Twenty cents. The pie was on me.” “I’d rather--rather----” Wayne’s remark dwindled to silence and he began an anxious search of all his pockets, a proceeding that brought a look of suspicion into the good-natured face of the man behind the counter. “Lost your money?” asked the latter with a trace of sarcasm. Wayne nodded silently. “I reckon I must have,” he muttered, turning out one pocket after another and assembling the contents on the counter; the tattered time-table, a toothbrush, a pair of stockings, two handkerchiefs, a knife, a pencil, some string, and two-cent stamp vastly the worse for having laid crumpled up in a vest pocket for many weeks. “It--it’s gone,” said Wayne blankly. “I had nearly four dollars last night, didn’t I, June?” “Yes, sir, you certainly did, Mas’ Wayne, ’cause I seen it. Where you reckon you lost it?” “I don’t know,” answered the other boy miserably. “It was in this pocket. I reckon it must have come out in the freight car.” The proprietor of the lunch wagon frowned. It was an old game to him, but there was something apparently genuine in the troubled expressions of both boys and he was almost inclined to accept the story. At all events, it was only twenty cents, and he was good-hearted and the two youngsters looked rather down on their luck. “Well, never mind,” he said carelessly. “You can pay me some other time, kids.” But Wayne shook his head. “You--you haven’t any money, have you, June?” he faltered. June shook his head sadly. “I didn’t have but two bits, Mas’ Wayne, and I went an’ spent that long time ago.” “You see,” said Wayne, turning to the proprietor, “we don’t live here. We’re just--just passing through on our way to New York, and so we couldn’t very well pay you later.” He looked dubiously at the array of property before him. “I reckon there ain’t anything there worth twenty cents, is there?” “Not to me, I guess.” “Then--then you’ll just have to keep Sam until we can bring the money,” said Wayne desperately. “I reckon we can earn it somewhere. Will you please to do that, sir?” The man looked covetously at the dog, but shook his head. “Shucks,” he answered, “he’d only be unhappy. And so would you, I guess. You run along, fellers. It’s all right. I guess you’ll pay me when you can, eh? Only--say, now, honest, kid, did you really have that four dollars, or are you just stringing me?” Wayne flushed but met the man’s gaze squarely. “I had it,” he replied simply. “You haven’t any call to think I’m lying.” “All right! I believe you. Now, look here, do you really want to earn a half-dollar?” “Yes, sir.” “Ever washed windows?” Wayne shook his head. “No, but I reckon I could do it.” “Well, these windows need washing pretty badly. Generally I do it myself, but I’d rather take a lickin’. There’s eight of ’em and it ought to be worth five cents a window. That’s forty cents, but we’ll call it fifty. What do you say?”