he highway
with a basket of supplies on his arm. The watchers paid small
attention to him until he turned suddenly into the driveway leading up
to the house. A moment later he had disappeared within the building.

"He's only a grocery boy," said Roy.

"We'll have to watch him, anyway," said Willie. "I'll follow him when
he comes out and you watch the house."

They had not long to wait. In a few minutes the boy came out, his
basket empty, and went skipping down the hill. Quick as a flash Willie
scrambled to the roadway above, and, screened by the shrubbery,
followed on the higher level. A quarter mile toward the ferry the two
highways came together. Willie reached the intersection at almost the
same time as the grocer's boy. Each took a glance at the other and
kept on his way, Willie dropping a few yards behind the other lad.

A quarter of a mile further on the slope changed and the district was
thickly built up. The errand boy soon entered a store. Willie had
just time for a quick glance at the sign on the window. It read,
"Fritz Berger, Fancy Groceries." Then Willie opened the door and
followed the errand boy into the place.

A florid, burly man with upturned mustaches stood behind the counter.
The errand boy was talking to him. In his hand he held a silver dollar.

"Here is the money for Mr. Baum's sugar," he was saying.

"Good!" said the grocer, seizing the coin, which he dropped in his
pocket. Then he turned to Willie. "Well?" he said inquiringly.

"Sugar," said Willie. "I want five pounds of sugar."

"I have no more," said the grocer. "It is all sold."

"Pshaw!" said Willie. "Where can I get some?"

"I don't know," said the grocer.

"Got any candy?" asked Willie.

"Sure. In that case."

Willie walked to the show-case and slowly examined the stock. "Give me
ten cents' worth of those chocolates," he finally ordered.

The storekeeper weighed out the candy and dumped it in a bag. He took
the proffered dime, dropped it in his till, and turned away.

Willie left the store and stood for a moment undecided as to which way
to go. "Nothing doing there," he said to himself. Then he turned a
corner and started down the hill. The supper hour was approaching.
People were coming up the street from the ferry, homeward bound from
Manhattan. A motor-car came chugging up the road and drew close to the
curb. The driver turned his car about, clamped on the brake, and
stepped out, leaving his