The morning wore on, and though I observed both Ed and Jimmy to cast surreptitious glances toward the apple tree, there were no more references to the subject of cents. In the afternoon I went over to Rob Currier's house, and found him engaged with the most fascinating weapon imaginable. It was a pop-gun made from a goose-quill. It shot small pieces of raw potato to a great distance, and did so with a loud and soul-satisfying pop. His uncle had made it for him, said Rob. He willingly let me experiment with it, but he was not interested to watch me very long. "Let's go down and look at the fire-crackers in Johnson's window," he suggested. "I'd rather stay here and shoot this pop-gun," I declared. "I'm tired of it," he rejoined. "Sell it to you for a cent." Again the cent! I put down the pop-gun and accompanied Rob to Johnson's shop, where we spent twenty minutes with our noses flattened against the pane, choosing what we would take if Mr. Johnson should come out and invite us to help ourselves. Mr. Johnson did nothing of the sort, however. We agreed that our first choice would be a mine, which was described as "sending to an enormous height nine colored stars, alternately green, purple, and carmine, and then exploding with a rain of golden serpents." This point decided, we repaired to the Curriers' and spent the afternoon perfecting our skill with the lasso. In the interval that evening, between supper and bedtime, I suffered much uneasiness. Some member of my family read from the evening paper that thieves were reported in town. Instantly, I thought of the three cents in the apple tree. Surely it had been rash to leave them exposed. There was nothing in the story about Washington to tell what he did to protect his coin from thieves. How would he have felt if he had come back, President of the United States, and found that some one had stolen his cent? Moreover, there was always the chance that I might never become President. In all fairness, I had to consider that. Suddenly the thought of Rob Currier's pop-gun recurred to me. I needed that pop-gun. Once during the night I got up and looked out of my bedroom window to see if the apple tree were safe. It seemed to be standing serene enough in the moonlight, but who could tell what marauders might besiege it? In the morning my mind was made up. As soon as I finished breakfast I hurried out, climbed the tree by the emergency route, and began to cut at the bark where my cent was concealed. I had it in an instant. As I was working I noticed that the other two cents were gone already. I turned around and looked down Oak Street. Jimmy Toppan, with one fist tightly clutched, was running at full speed toward Johnson's and the Chinese Aërial Bomb. Ed Mason was nowhere in sight. Apparently he had withdrawn his deposit even earlier. CHAPTER VI HORACE