"Not me. I'm sore at those kids, anyhow," was the reply. "The eldest
one undertakes to call me down for going out at night all the time."

"Well, you have a good chance to get back at him and make some money
at the same time," was the other's rejoinder.

"You are sure the money will be forthcoming?"

"Well, I should say! Old man Barr, who bought the patent of the
Buzzard dirt cheap from her inventor, has a pile of it. He's going to
manufacture the Buzzards to make money out of 'em and he'll stop at
nothing to gain the prestige of winning this Hempstead Plains Cup."

"I've heard of old Barr before. He's a regular skinflint, but I
suppose, if you say it will be all right about the money, I'll have to
take your word for it. I need some coin too badly to stick at
anything."

"That's the way to talk. By the way, talking of the inventor of the
Buzzard, I saw a piece in the paper about him to-night."

"What was it?"

"Why it seems that the poor beggar applied for shelter at the
Municipal lodging-house in New York and told them a long tale of Barr
having robbed him of his invention. They sized him up as being just
another of those inventor bugs and so sent him to the booby hatch in
Bellevue."