"Did you lose it?"
"No," and Henry spoke hesitatingly. "But you see my father had an idea he could make some money by becoming agent for a new kind of soap. He borrowed my cash and sent for a big supply; but when he got it no one would buy it. So he has it on hand, and my money is gone. Of course what I have is my father's until I'm of age, but—"
Henry stopped. In spite of the selfish and lazy character of his parent he was not going to utter any complaint against him.
"How much money do you need to buy this iron?" asked Dick, a sudden resolve coming into his mind.
"It will take fifty dollars; but it might just as well be five hundred as far as I'm concerned. I could get it together in about a month, but it's out of the question now. I'm just on my way to tell the man I can't take the iron. It's too bad, as it's a bargain, and I could easily make considerable on the deal."
While Henry was speaking Dick had drawn a little red book from his pocket, and was busily writing in it with a fountain pen. He tore out a slip of paper and handed it to his friend.
"There, Henry," he said, "if you take that to the Hamilton National Bank they'll give you cash for it."
"But what is it—I don't understand—a check for fifty dollars!" exclaimed the other youth.
