anged himself into a
silver coin and allowed himself to drop with a sweet metallic ring on
the stone, waiting winking in the sun for Simon Gosler. The old
cripple saw the coin before it had bounced twice on the stone, and
with a quick sly look over his shoulder at the backs of his companions
as they pushed at the boat, hoisted himself up on his crutch and began
hobbling over toward his find.

But instead of a coin, he found only a resolute boy awaiting him,
tossing and catching a silver piece. It was one of those Mr. Wicker
had given Chris but an hour before. He looked Simon Gosler in the eye.

"I've heard what went on, Simon Gosler," said Chris, his eyes on a
level with the rheumy watering eyes of the cripple, "and if you will
sell your spyglass to me, I'll buy it off you with this silver piece.
Otherwise you shall not have it."

Simon Gosler's eyes dripped tears of greed at the sight of the coin,
and then another expression washed over them. Fast as he was and fast
as was his movement, Chris was faster. As the old beggar braced
himself and brought the head of his crutch down where Chris's head
should have been, someone from behind dealt him a staggering blow with
a sizable club, and yet when he turned around no one was there. When
he faced about again, rubbing his head and whimpering with rage and
frustration, he found himself once more facing the boy who was
tossing and catching, tossing and catching, the round silver coin.

Chris stood with his legs apart, his head back, his eyes full of
scorn. His hand did not cease to toss and catch the silver piece.
"Well, you old villain," he challenged, "will you take the coin in
fair exchange, or shall I hit you again with that club you just felt?"
he asked. "It doesn't feel the same when you get it back as when you
give it out, does it, you old faker? Hurry up--your friends will soon
be coming back, and I don't think they intend to argue," he added.

[Illustration]

Gosler, still rubbing his head and muttering, finally spoke. "Very
well, you nasty young man, I'll sell my glass. Give me the coin!" and
he stretched out a dirty claw.

"Oh no!" Chris shook his head decisively. "No indeed! You put the
glass down between us--carefully, mind you--and back away. I'll throw
you the coin when I've seen if the glass is worth the silver!"

Mumbling to himself, Simon Gosler did as he was told. He reached back
in his coat pocket to draw out a small spyglass, which he laid down on