this fall," he
said. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know yet," said Jardin. "I have got to talk it over with dad."

"Let's go find Bill," said Frank. "That is, if you haven't anything
better to do."

They detached themselves from the crowd and walked down to the sporting
house, where they found Bill just tucking a bulky bundle under his arm.
He had bought his sweater and stopped to count his change before he
turned to greet the boys.

"Gee, what an old woman's trick," said Frank, who wanted to let Jardin
know that _he_ was not afraid to spend.

"You mean to count the change?" Bill inquired.

"Yes," said Frank.

"You are right," Jardin cut in. "I never have time. _My_ time is more
valuable than a few cents the fellow may swipe from me."

"Suppose it is the other way around," said Bill. "Suppose the fellow has
made the mistake. When the checks are made up, his shows the loss and he
has to make it up. Not much fun for him. Perhaps he has a family and he
can't afford it. I never used to bother either, but once I was taking
dinner in New York with a friend of mother's who has oodles of money,
and when he came to pay the check he looked every item over and counted
the change and it was thirty cents overcharged. I suppose I looked
funny, because he said to me when the waiter went off to get it
straightened out, 'Bill, it is no special credit to let these fellows do
you. If you want to give money away, there are plenty of beggars on the
streets, or you can buy millions of shoe laces and pencils. But never
let anybody think they can put it over you.'

"And then to show the other side, that is, when the other fellow makes
an honest mistake, he told me a story that made me remember. Then the
waiter brought the right change, got a tip, and we left. But I always
count change now."

"I'd like to see anybody do that in the Biltway Hotel!" laughed Jardin.

"This was in the Biltway Cascades," said Bill.

"Come down here," said Frank. "Here is where the Indians come most."
Young Jardin and his father had only reached town late the night before
so he was as ready as Bill to see the sights.

On a corner by a drug store two very old Indians stood gesturing at each
other. The boys stopped a little way off and watched them. Their
wrinkled old mouths were tight closed but their hands flew in short,
quick motions that were perfectly impossible for the boys to
understand. It was evident, however, that the two old men understoo