As Dick was coming home from his classes that afternoon, turning over in his mind various plans for making a good investment--from growing mushrooms or raising squabs to starting a brass band or becoming proprietor of a small circus--he saw coming toward him a dilapidated rig. He knew it could be none other than that of Henry Darby. As the horse and wagon approached it seemed to Dick to look, more than ever, ready to fall apart. "Well, Henry," he remarked. "I see you're still in business. The panic hasn't bothered you, has it?" "Not me, so much as it has the horse and wagon," replied Henry, with a laugh. "Don't you think that beast's ribs are nearer caving in than they were the last time you saw it?" "He does look thinner, for a fact," admitted Dick. "He is," and Henry spoke with solemn earnestness. "They were almost touching on either side this morning, but I gave him all the hay I could afford and that sort of spread them apart. As for the wagon--well, I don't need any bell or automobile horn to tell people I'm coming. It rattles enough to be heard two blocks off." "Why don't you get a better outfit?" suggested Dick. "I should think it would pay." "It might pay, but I couldn't. I'll have to get along with this for a while," and Henry looked at the odd assortment of old metal he had collected and was taking to his storage yard. "Isn't the business paying as well as you thought it would, Henry?" "Oh, the business is all right. The trouble is the way the president manages it," and Henry smiled ruefully. "You remember I told you dad had taken most of the surplus capital for one of his schemes," and he looked inquiringly at Dick. "Yes, I remember, you said he thought there were thousands of dollars in it." "Well, they're still there," said Henry, with dry humor. "Dad hasn't been able to induce 'em to come forth and nestle in his or my pockets. That's why I haven't enough money to buy a new horse and wagon. If I had it I could cover more ground in a day and do more business. As for this--this--well, I don't know what to call him. He reminds me of a heap of old iron, sticking out seven ways from Sunday, as the old saying is. You see his bones stick out like so many points." "They do, for a fact," and Dick looked at the horse, that presented more angles than he had ever before imagined a horse possessed. "There's one consolation," went on Henry. "He's cheap, but there's another disadvantage, he looks it. So does the wagon. Whenever I start away from home to collect old metal I always tell dad not to worry if I don't get back that night. There's no telling which will break down first--the horse or the wagon. It's like taking a voyage in a sailing ship, no telling when you'll arrive.