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Johnny Blossom dashed homeward over the hill, bounding his swiftest so as to get home soon, for he had thought of something he was eager to carry out. If the master of Kingthorpe were alive Grandmother would ask him for money, she had said. Well, but really—he, Johnny Blossom, was master of Kingthorpe now, so he must, of course, attend to it. And he knew how he could do it. He would sell the fishing rod Uncle Isaac had given him—it cost an awful lot of money, Miss Melling had said—and Grandmother should have all he got for it. And his collection of coins—he would sell that, too. It ought to bring a lot of money—those old two-shilling pieces were so curious; and there was the English coin—my! that was worth ever so much!—and the queer old medal. [25]“When’s supper, Boss Whitney? I’m hungry enough to eat tacks!” Oh! there it hung by the boiler closet. But what a forlorn, miserable thing! He had not remembered that it was so worn out. Why, it scarcely held together! It was almost a disgrace to have such shabby fishing tackle, especially now when William Holm had that brand-new pole and Philip Krag was going to get one tomorrow. No, this old thing would not do. He positively needed a new outfit, and that meant that he simply must have some money..

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“Well, you’d better take it back, then,” he said. “I hain’t slept on nothin’ but the old earth here for forty year and I reckon I won’t sleep on nothin’ else until I sleep in it. This here thing ain’t goin’ to do me no good.” Then under his feet he saw the snake-like line of fuse. Reaching down, he grabbed it. It was necessary to take the chance that this sudden disturbance of the dynamite might set it off. With a leap, he pulled the whole thing over the bank with him and dropped with it into the water of the Rio Grande. He did not hear the sizzling sound that told that the fuse was dead. As he sank into the water, Bob was only conscious that he had done his best. “Oh, yes. You may know we were wet, sopping wet. We were almost upset in the sea, you understand; we were nearly drowned.” His reverie was broken into a few moments later by a bell boy coming out with a telegram. It was from Mr. Whitney, and sent from El Paso. Bob opened it and read: “Unexpected developments. Must go Washington. Back within three weeks. Will wire further instructions.”.