ully disappointed that we had made a business foozle."

"I, for one, say we don't tell anybody," Melville burst out. "I've some
pride and I draw the line at having every Tom, Dick, and Harry shouting
'I told you so!' at me. What do you say, Paul, that we keep this thing
to ourselves? If we have made a bull of it and got ourselves into a
hole, let's get out of it somehow without the whole world knowing it."

"But how?"

"I don't know," Melville returned. "All I know is I'm not for telling
anybody."

"But this bill, Melville? What is to become of that?"

"We must pay it."

"_We_?"

"You and I."

The room was very still; then Melville spoke again.

"Haven't you any ready money, Paul?"

"Y--e--s."

"Have you enough so that we could halve a hundred--pay the fifty-dollar
deficit and put fifty dollars in the bank?"

"You mean you'd pay half of it if I would?"

"Yep."

"I--see."

"Could you manage it--fifty dollars?"

"Yes. Could you, Mel?"

"Well, I haven't the fifty; but I have a Liberty Bond that I could sell
and get the money."

"That seems a shame," objected Paul.

"Oh, I don't care. I'm game. Anything rather than having the whole
school twit me of messing the accounts."

"I don't care about being joshed, either," declared Paul. "Still--"

"Something's fussing you. What is it?"

"Well, you see, Mel, I've been doing extra work at home in order to earn
enough money for a typewriter. I've just got it saved up. It'll have to
go into this, now."

"Darned hard luck, old man! Don't do it if you don't want to. Maybe I
can--"

"No, you can't! I wouldn't think of having you pay the whole hundred,
even if you had the money right in your hand. This snarl is as much mine
as yours. We probably haven't planned right. We've overlooked something
and come out short."

"We might let the bill run until another month, I suppose," Melville
presently suggested.

Paul started up.

"No. We mustn't do that on any account. We might be worse off another
month. I say we clear the thing right up and start fair. If you will
turn in your fifty, I will," declared he, with spirit.

"Bully for you! You sure are a sport, Kip."

"I don't see anything else to be done."

There was nothing else. Melville's "Baby Bond" was converted into cash;
Paul's typewriter sacrificed; the fifty-dollar bill was paid; and the
other fifty was put into the bank.

The boys kept their own council and if the _March Hare_ sensed that its