that the quarter should be dropped on the north side of Lyme Street,
between Stamford and Tryon; in short, as conveniently near home as
possible. Then I issued forth, not feeling overconfident, but hoping. Tom
Peters, leaning over the ornamental cast-iron fence which separated his
front yard from the street, presently spied me scanning the sidewalk.

"What are you looking for, Hugh?" he demanded with interest.

"Oh, something I dropped," I answered uneasily.

"What?"

Naturally, I refused to tell. It was a broiling, midsummer day; Julia and
Russell, who had been warned to stay in the shade, but who were engaged
in the experiment of throwing the yellow cat from the top of the lattice
fence to see if she would alight on her feet, were presently attracted,
and joined in the search. The mystery which I threw around it added to
its interest, and I was not inconsiderably annoyed. Suppose one of them
were to find the quarter which God had intended for me? Would that be
justice?

"It's nothing," I said, and pretended to abandon the quest--to be renewed
later. But this ruse failed; they continued obstinately to search; and
after a few minutes Tom, with a shout, picked out of a hot crevice
between the bricks--a nickel!

"It's mine!" I cried fiercely.

"Did you lose it?" demanded Julia, the canny one, as Tom was about to
give it up.