"Ten and twenty cents."
"Boys, do you think you could eat a twenty-cent pie?"
"Do we?" cried Walter. "Just try us and see, Uncle Job." And now he clasped his guardian half affectionately by the shoulder.
"Then get the twenty-cent pie, Mrs. Graham, and be sure an pick out the best. You—er—have the other things?"
"Yes, sir—potatoes, green corn, and coffee."
"Very good." And as the housekeeper retired, Job Dowling turned to the boys again. "And how is your arm, Ben? Not seriously hurt, I trust?"
"It's only a scratch," was the answer.
"And you, Walter?"
"I'm all right. But how have you been, Uncle Job, and what of that stolen stuff?"
"Oh, I'm only tolerable—got quite some rheumatism. The hairlooms is all safe but they cost me two hundred and twenty-seven dollars an' a half to git 'em!" And the guardian nodded to emphasize his words.
"Well, they re worth it," answered Ben, promptly; and Job Dowling did not dare dispute the assertion. "Where are they?"
