he said more cheerfully, "it's probably the best bargain we could have made. The bank wouldn't have advanced us a single penny."
Bert paid practically no attention to Sam's change of viewpoint. "How about an afternoon off?" he demanded abruptly. "Can you stick it out alone to-morrow?"
"All day?"
"No; I'll be in in the evening."
"Got something important on?"
"I want to take a trip. We have only geometry, gym and a study period to-morrow afternoon. I think I could get excused from geometry . . . I'm pretty well up in that."
"You want to visit that bug hunter, I bet." Sam shook his head. "It beats me what you see in that fellow. All right; go along. You were a rescuer to-day; that's worth an afternoon off. Don't forget to put that $150 in the bank."
In the morning Bert deposited the money and hurried to the high school to interview the teacher who taught geometry. He won his excuse, and before one o'clock was on his way to the cabin and the house of glass. Snow would come any day now; something told him that this would be his last visit of the winter.
The trip was his response to another nameless urge. The partnership had secured needed funds, the Christmas season was sure to be their salvation, and yet a vague uneasiness had begun to mas-
