"How much?" asked the boy.
"Seeing as they are the last I have, I'll let you have them for fifteen cents each."
"I'll give you a quarter for the two."
"Very well; here you are," and the transfer was made on the spot. Slipping the firecrackers into his coat pocket, Tom sauntered up to old Ricks, while Sam and Dick looked on, sure that something was in the wind.
"Ricks, that is pretty bad news from Middletown, isn't it?" he observed.
"Bad news? What do you mean?" demanded the station master, as he threw some more waste paper on the fire, which he had just lit.
"About that dynamite being stolen by train wreckers. They think some of the explosive was brought up here."
"Didn't hear of it."
"Dynamite is pretty bad stuff to have around, so I've heard."
"Awful! awful! I never want to see any of it," answered Ricks, with a decided shake of his head.
"If it goes off it's apt to blow everything to flinders," went on Dick.
"That's so—I don't want any of it," and the old man began to gather up more waste paper for his fire. Watching his chance, Tom threw
