“Well, it’s gone,” said Wayne finally. “And there’s no use crying about it. But what I want to know is how we’re to get to New York on thirty cents. That man said it was about a hundred and fifty miles and I reckon it’ll take us ’most a week, don’t you?” “Depends,” said June. “If we’s lucky and gets plenty of free rides----” “They’re too particular around here,” interrupted Wayne sadly. “I reckon it’ll be mighty hard to get into freight cars after this, June. We’ll just have to foot it, and thirty cents won’t last long on the road. Folks ain’t awfully hospitable up North, I’ve heard, and we can’t depend on getting meals free. Anyway, I don’t want to. It’s too much like begging. That man as much as called us tramps, and that woman said we _were_ tramps. Well, we aren’t. We’ve paid for everything anyone would let us pay for, so far, excepting the rides we stole, and those don’t count, I reckon. Seems to me like the only thing to do now, June, is to stay right here and earn some money before we go any further. There’s no use trying to walk to New York with only thirty cents.” June agreed cheerfully enough to that proposition. After all, it made little difference to him. New York City or Medfield, it was all one. To be sure, they had started out for New York, but it was Wayne who had settled on that place as their destination, and June would have been just as well satisfied if Wayne had decided for Reykjavik, Iceland. Besides, it was now almost three weeks since they had stolen away from Sleepersville, Georgia, and June’s first enthusiasm for wandering had faded sadly. In short, the idea of remaining stationary in one place for a while struck him as being very attractive. And perhaps the same thought came to Wayne, for, having reached the decision, he sighed as if with relief. It may have been, probably was, merely a coincidence, but Sam, stretched flat on the ground at Wayne’s feet, echoed the sigh.