Sales were not always so good as they were the first hot morning.  Many a day Todd wandered all over the little town, stopping at every door, only to be met by a disappointing “no.”  Many a time, when the hot pavements burned his bare feet and he was tired and discouraged, he longed for the wheel which he hoped would some day be his; and every evening, on his way home, he stopped to look in at Stark Brothers’ window, to feast his eyes on that bicycle inside.

One evening, as he stood looking in, Chicky Wiggins slipped up and slapped him on the back in his friendly way.  “Hullo, Todd,” he called, “admiring my wheel, are you?  I’m letting it stay in there awhile to accommodate Stark Brothers, but the truth is I’ve been thinking seriously of having to take it out.  The company sends me on such long errands that I seem to be getting more walking than the doctor prescribed.  It doesn’t agree with me.”

“You mean my wheel,” laughed Todd.  “I’ll lend it to you sometimes, Chicky, my son, if you’ll promise to be good.”

“I say, Todd,” said Chicky, giving him a quizzical glance, “I’d give a doughnut to know what motto you and Ab chose.”

Todd grinned.  “You won’t have much longer to wait,” he said.  “Time is nearly up, and we’ll know our fate in another ten days.”

The last week in August, the three men whom the boys had selected to decide their case met in Judge Parker’s office.

“If you want my opinion,” said the grocer, when he was called upon, “I think Ab Morgan has worked the hardest for this prize.  He has proved the truth of his motto beyond a doubt, for he has made a success of his garden, and has never slacked up a day.  He has made a nice little pile of money, too, and I would recommend him to any business man in this town as an example of diligence.  I’ll be glad to have him clerk for me any time he gets ready to come.”

“I think that little Todd Walters has made the best choice,” said the druggist.  “You see, he has been selling fly-paper for me all summer on commission, and I’ve had a chance to see the inner workings.  People are always coming to me with some pleasant thing to say about him.  He’s certainly won the ‘loving favour’ of all he’s had anything to do with, whether they were his customers or not, and the good name he has made for himself will stick to him all his life.

“He had a lemonade stand at the baseball game last week, and I heard Doctor Streeter say to a friend:  ’Come on, Bill, let’s go over and get a glass,—­patronize the little fellow.’  The man said, ’No, thank you, doc, none of that weak circus stuff for me,—­acid and colouring matter and sweetened water.  I’ve been an enterprising boy myself, and know how it’s done.’

“‘I assure you it’s all right if Todd Walters made it,’ answered the doctor.  ’I’m willing to guarantee him to any extent.  He’s “all wool and a yard wide” in everything he does, and, if you don’t find his lemonade is pure stuff, made of real lemons, my name is not James Streeter.  That little fellow has the respect and confidence of everybody who knows him, and I’d trust him with anything I’ve got.’”