Hamilcar drew up just at the outskirts of Sunfield and we got out.

“Mr. Hoffer,” says Mark Tidd, “when you g-get back to your store there’ll be a m-man there by the name of Jehoshaphat P. Skip, who’ll want to buy your stock.”

“So?” says Mr. Hoffer.

“Yes,” says Mark. “We’ve bought it ourselves just to b-beat him, and I’ll tell you why.”

Then he set to and told Mr. Hoffer all about it just like he had told Hamilcar Janes. When he was through Mr. Hoffer shook his head in that mild way of his and says:

“That wass not goot. He iss not a fair man. Me, I will haff no dealing with him whatever. So.”

“M-maybe you’ll help us a little?” says Mark.

“I vill help. Ja, I will do what I can.”

“Well, then, just tell him nothing about this option. Tell him you have nothing to d-do with the sale, though, and he’ll have to see— Who’s your best lawyer here?”

“A young man, also a goot man, I think. He iss from college only a leetle while. His name it is Hamilton.”

“Well, you tell Skip Hamilton is handling the deal and to go to him. D-don’t tell him another word.”

“Ja, so I will do. Ja.... Goot-by, mein young friend. To see you again I shall hope. Goot-by.”

“Good-by, Mr. Hoffer, and we h-hope you get well and everything comes out fine.”

“I will do mein best. But, Mark Tidd, if t’ings go not as I like to haff them, I shall not cry. No, I shall be patient, and not such a coward as I like not to be.”

We shook hands all around and Hamilcar and Mr. Hoffer drove off. As soon as they were away Mark and I lit out for Mr. Hamilton’s law-office. We hadn’t had any dinner, but Mark didn’t seem to mind, and I wasn’t going to be the first to speak about it, you can bet. If he could stand it to starve to death, I guess I could, too.

We found Mr. Hamilton’s office in a little one-story wooden building on Main Street. He was there, but he seemed a little surprised to see us.

“How d’you do?” says he. “Were you looking for a doctor or a lawyer.”

“L-l-lawyer,” says Mark.

Mr. Hamilton sighed with relief. “I was sure you’d made a mistake. Didn’t think you could possibly be looking for me. But come right in. Shall I bring out my trained law-book for you? Or would you rather watch a baseball game between the Compiled Statutes and the Court Rules?”

He laughed, pleasant-like. I took to him right away and so did Mark. He was middling big, and he looked like he was a lot of fun.

“We want a l-l-lawyer,” says Mark.

“Um!... Criminal case, I expect. You’re the miscreants that threw a bomb at the Czar of Russia?”

“No,” says Mark. “But we want to th-th-throw a bomb at Jehoshaphat P. Skip.”

“Say that again,” says Mr. Hamilton. “Is it a name or something to eat from Sweden?”

“Name,” says Mark; “and let’s get down to b-business. I’ll tell you what we want and you can say whether you want to d-do it or not.”

“Let her go,” says Hamilton, and we all sat down.

Mark went over all the things that had happened to us, and then for the first time I got an idea what the scheme was that brought us to Sunfield.

“Now,” says Mark, when he’d brought things up to date, “we’ve got this option on Mr. Hoffer’s stock. Skip wants to b-buy the stock. That stock’s worth twice what we paid for it, and Skip knows what it’s worth. What we want you to do is this: you dicker with him. The price we want is twelve hundred dollars, not a cent more, and not a cent less.... That is—maybe we’d b-better make him pay your fee. You charge him, however, much more than the three hundred dollars’ profit you ought to be paid. Don’t let on you’re our lawyer. You don’t need to mention any names. Just talk about clients, eh? How’ll that do? He’ll buy. No d-d-danger he won’t, that I can see. Make him pay cash down for the option, and g-git the cash before you turn it over. He’ll have it with him.”

“H’m!” says Mr. Hamilton. “Who thought up this scheme?”

“I did,” says Mark.

“Well,” says Mr. Hamilton, “I hope you and I stay friends, that’s all I’ve got to say about it. Do you have ideas like this often?”

“He has ’em in his sleep,” says I.

“How about it?” says Mark. “Will you do what we want you to?”

“You bet,” says Mr. Hamilton.

“We want to be around s-s-somewheres,” says Mark, “where we can hear it. Where can we hide?”

“Smalley here might get in the closet,” says Hamilton, with a grin, “but you weren’t made to fit closets, Tidd. You’ll have to have a room. Suppose we try the woodshed there—and leave the door open. I guess you’ll be able to hear, all right.”

“We’ll go back there n-now,” says Mark. “It wouldn’t do for Jehoshaphat P. to catch a glimpse of us.”

So back we went. We didn’t have to sit around long, either, for along came Mr. Skip, looking as cross as all-git-out. He came stamping in and scowled at Mr. Hamilton.

“Are you the feller that’s lookin’ after this sale for Hoffer?” says he.

“Yes,” says Mr. Hamilton.

“He hain’t got much of a stock,” says Skip, “and what he’s got don’t amount to much.”

“Well,” says Mr. Hamilton, “in that case I wouldn’t bother about it if I were you.”

“Oh,” says Skip, “I figgered if I could pick it up at a bargain—junk prices—I could git some profit out of it. Use it for special sales and sich in my store over to Wicksville.”

“You know pretty well what’s in the stock, don’t you?”

“Trust Jehoshaphat P. Skip for that. He hain’t buyin’ no pig in a bag. I hain’t been hangin’ around there three hours for nothin’.”

“Do you want to make me an offer? Is that why you are here?”

“I calc’late I wanted to talk price some. Hoffer’s got to sell. He ought to be willin’ to let it go cheap for ready cash.”

“He is willing to sell cheap. What’ll you offer?”

“Five hundred dollars,” says Skip, and clamped his thin lips together like he was afraid a breath would git out for nothing.

“Good afternoon,” says Mr. Hamilton, getting on to his feet. “I’m pretty busy. When you get ready to talk business, come around again.”

Skip looked sort of startled, but he didn’t get up. “I might raise that offer a mite,” says he.

“Yes,” says Mr. Hamilton, “you’ll raise it a whole swarm of mites. There’s one price on that stock and one price only. Twelve hundred and twenty-five dollars is the price, and you can take it or leave it. I haven’t any time to dicker. Just think that over. It’s so cheap I’m ashamed to handle the deal. Now think it over. It’s yes or no to that price. No use talking anything else.”

“Twelve hundred and twenty-five dollars!” says Skip. He sat there and twiddled his fingers and waggled his nose and worked his Adam’s apple up and down so I nearly busted right out laughing. He didn’t say a word for a quarter of an hour, and Mr. Hamilton pretended he wasn’t there at all. Hamilton worked away at his desk and didn’t so much as look at Skip once. It was nearly four o’clock when Skip caved in.

“Sure that’s the best price?” says he.

“Certain.”

“Then,” says Skip, hesitating a bit like it hurt him to say the words—“then I’ll—I’ll take it. What terms?”

“Three hundred and twenty-five dollars now, and the balance Thursday,” says Hamilton. “I’ll deliver a legal option to you now and a bill of sale when you pay down the balance.”

Skip pulled a wallet out of his pocket and counted out the money—three hundred and twenty-five dollars. My! but it looked like a lot. He put it on the desk. Then Mr. Hamilton pushed over our option. The option was in my name, James Smalley, because we knew Skip never would recognize it. Father’s name is Mortimer Smalley, so Skip wouldn’t think of any connection. He didn’t suspect a thing. That was Mark Tidd’s idea, too.

Mr. Hamilton had made me sign the option over, so it was all ready to deliver to Skip. He took it and Mr. Hamilton took the money.

“You’ve got a good deal,” says Mr. Hamilton.

“Not so good as I calc’lated on gittin’,” says Skip, sour as vinegar. “But I guess I won’t lose no money on it.”

He got up to go out.

“Good afternoon,” says Mr. Hamilton as pleasant as pie.

“Huh!” grunts Skip. “G-by, mister.” And out he went.

I almost jumped out of my skin. Three hundred dollars! It was ours, and we’d made it as honest as could be. We had to have three hundred dollars, and there was old Mark Tidd with a way to do it. I just looked at him and couldn’t say a word. He was looking at me out of the corner of his eye to see how I took it, and he was looking pretty well satisfied with himself, too. I guess it was plain for him to see what a great man I thought he was, for he grinned as pleased as could be.

“Guess that fixes Skip and his chattel m-m-mortgage,” says he.

“Yes,” says I, “and it fixes other things. It fixes it so the Smalley family has something to live on when my dad comes out of the hospital, and it fixes it so my mother will think you’re the greatest man that ever lived. I hain’t goin’ to say thank you, Mark, not me. I couldn’t do it right; but you wait till I tell mother. She’ll know what to say. Don’t forget that a minute. She’ll know....” I quit talking right there because I was afraid I’d choke up and have to quit and act foolish.

We went into the office and Mr. Hamilton handed us the money. He kept shaking his head all the time and looking at Mark.

“Tidd,” says he, “if I ever get a big case, one that takes more brains than most men have got to win it, I’m going to send over to Wicksville for you, I am. Will you come and help me out?”

Mark knew he was fooling, but all the same it was pretty complimentary fooling.

“Glad to come,” says he, “any time.”

“What are you going to do now?” asked Mr. Hamilton.

“Find Hamilcar Janes,” says Mark, “and thank him, and then see how we can get back home.”

“Any hurry?”

“L-l-like to get there to-night if we can.”

“Tell you what I’ll do,” says Mr. Hamilton. “You take supper with me, and I’ll drive you over in father’s automobile to-night. How about that?”

“Fine,” says I. I began to chuckle. It was the first good, satisfying laugh I had laughed in weeks. “I wonder,” says I, “if Skip’s man Clancy has found out why his car wouldn’t run.”

“I hope not,” says Mark, and his face set with that sort of a stern look he got every time he thought about Skip. “I hope Skip has to walk from Janes’s farm every inch of the w-w-way home.”

That’s just what I hoped myself.