“All right,” assented Jack.  “Here goes.”

Lem Gildy was shuffling along the road.  He was a particularly unprepossessing man, with a reddish growth of whiskers which he never seemed to take the trouble to shave off, and they stuck out like so many bristles in a half-worn toothbrush.

His teeth were yellow, and his habit of chewing tobacco was not to be commended.  In short, he was a “shiftless” character, and nice persons had very little to do with him.

“Hello, Lem!” called Jack pleasantly.

“Hello,” was the rather surly answer, and Lem shot a suspicious glance at Jack.  It was not often that the young and wealthy Jack Kimball condescended to speak to Lem Gildy, and Lem realized it.

“Want a ride?” went on Jack, trying to make his voice sound natural.

“Don’t look as if you was goin’ my way,” replied Lem with a grin.  Then he turned his gaze on Cora, and the beautiful girl could not repress a shudder as she felt the bold glance of the man.

“Oh, I’m going to turn around,” declared Jack.  “I’m going back to Chelton.  That’s where you’re headed for, I take it?”

“Sure.  That’s where I’m goin’, and I’m tired, too.  I’ve had a long walk this mornin’, and—­”

“Are you working in the blacksmith shop?” asked Walter quietly.

“No.  What made you think that?” asked Lem quickly.  “If you think—­”

Then he stopped suddenly.  An indignant look, that Lem had assumed, faded from his face.  “No, I wasn’t workin’ there,” he went on.  “I—­er—­I just stopped in to see about gettin’ a piece of iron.”

“Well, do you want to ride back with me?” asked Jack, who wondered at Walter’s question.

“That’s what I do, if you’re goin’ my way.”

“Yes, I’ll turn around in a minute.  Go ahead, Cora and Walter.  Get back as soon as you can.”

Jack cranked up his car, got in, and, running in a half circle, steered it to where Lem was standing.

“I ain’t much in the habit of ridin’ in these here kind of wagons,” remarked Lem with a smirk.  “I hope nothin’ happens t’ us.”

“I guess nothing will.  But, Lem, I’m not going to give you a ride for nothing,” said Jack.

The man drew back suspiciously.  He had expected something like this, his manner seemed to say.

“I ain’t got any money,” he whined.

“No, it’s not money,” went on Jack.  “I only want you to help me look for something.”

“Look for Suthin’?”

“Yes; along the road.”

“What’s the matter?  Lose part of your autymobil?”

“No; it’s a pocketbook—­a wallet.”

“A wallet?” exclaimed Lem, with such suddenness that Jack started.

“Yes,” cried the lad.  “You don’t mean to say you found it?”

Lem seemed agitated.  He shuffled his feet in the dust.

“Me find a pocketbook?” he said at length with a short laugh.  “Well,
I guess not.  I ain’t in the habit of findin’ such things as that. 
What kind was it, and what was in it?”