"Who's your father?" asked the janitor.

"They're staying with their Aunt Jo," explained Tom Martin. "She lives
on this street--Miss Bunker, you know."

"We're two of the six little Bunkers," said Russ.

"Oh, I'm glad to know that," and Mr. Quinn smiled again. "Well, as it
happens, I used to be your aunt's furnace man, so I know her. If you're
related to her you must be all right. I'll let you two little Bunkers go
now, but your father must come and pay for the window."

"He will," promised Russ, who was glad no policeman had come along,
though he had made up his mind to be brave, and not be afraid if one
should happen to be called in by the janitor. But none was.

"I'll help pay for the window, too," said Tom. "It was part my fault,
'cause I asked Russ and Laddie to come down here to play tops."

"Good-bye, boys!" the janitor called after them. "I'm sorry you had this
accident, but I like the way you acted."

Russ, Laddie and Tom were sorry, too, for they knew their fathers would
feel bad, not so much at having to pay out fifty cents each, as because
the boys had played tops in a place where they might, almost any time,
break a window.

Tom ought to have known better than to go down by the apartment house,
for, more than once, he had been told to keep away, but Russ and Laddie
had not. However, neither Mr. Martin nor Daddy Bunker scolded very much.
They sent the money to the janitor, and told the boys just what Mr.
Quinn had told them--to play tops on some other pavement. And this the
boys did.

"But we got to have _some_ fun," grumbled Russ.

"Oh, there are lots of other places where you can spin your tops without
going down near the apartment house," said Mr. Bunker. "Windows will
get broken, once in a while, but I don't like it to happen too often."

"Did you get any answers to the advertisement about the lost
pocketbook?" asked Mrs. Bunker of her husband that night, for he had
said he would stop at the newspaper office and inquire.

"No," he replied. "I'm afraid whoever owns it does not read the papers.
I wish I knew who it was."

"So do I," said Rose.

For, even though she would like to keep the money for herself, she knew
it was better that the poor person, whose it was, should have it. But,
so far, no one had come to claim the wallet and the sixty-five dollars.

After dinner one day Aunt Jo said:

"Who wants to go on an auto ride?"

"I do!" cried Rose and Violet.

"Me, too!" added Margy,