"Well, my father's what they call a multi-millionaire; and he has
two private cars. One's named for me, the 'Harvey,' and one for my
mother, the 'Constance.'"

"Hold on," said Dan. "Dad don't ever let me swear, but I guess you
can. 'Fore we go ahead, I want you to say hope you may die if
you're lying."

"Of course," said Harvey.

"Thet ain't 'nuff. Say, 'Hope I may die if I ain't speakin'
truth.'"

"Hope I may die right here," said Harvey, "if every word I've
spoken isn't the cold truth."

"Hundred an' thirty-four dollars an' all?" said Dan. "I heard ye
talkin' to dad, an' I ha'af looked you'd be swallered up, same's
Jonah."

Harvey protested himself red in the face. Dan was a shrewd young
person along his own lines, and ten minutes' questioning convinced
him that Harvey was not lying - much. Besides, he had bound
himself by the most terrible oath known to boyhood, and yet he
sat, alive, with a red-ended nose, in the scuppers, recounting
marvels upon marvels.

"Gosh!" said Dan at last, from the very bottom of his soul, when
Harvey had completed an inventory of the car named in his honour.
Then a grin of mischievous delight overspread his broad face. "I