"How'd the time work out?" asked Ellison.
"All right. I met her; we spoke," admitted Calvin, to clear his conscience by at least partial confession. "She asked me an extraordinary thing, Ellison."
"She would," said Ellison, watching him sharply. "If you want me to know, tell me; I'm not going to try to guess."
"She gave me this money," admitted Calvin, flushing hotly as he produced from his pocket three one-dollar bills folded about a silver half dollar.
Ellison watched him seriously and succeeded in keeping his lips straight as he whispered, "How much is it, Clarke?"
"Three dollars and a half."
"She certainly," said Ellison, very seriously, "she certainly bought you cheap."
"Bought me?" said Calvin. "It's for a book for Ketlar—a book on musical composition. She wants him to study it in jail to make him a—a musician."
He had touched, but he had not produced from his pocket, the list which she had written; and though he had to mention something of her dream, he did not relate to Ellison that she believed that she could make Ketlar a Mozart.
"That girl's good!" exclaimed Ellison, dropping his teasing antic in his outright admiration of ability. "I'll attest to all inquirers that that girl is good! She met you up there, did she? got you to take money, did she? to buy a book to make Ketlar a musician?"
Calvin sat, convicted.
"Well," demanded Ellison, "what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to buy the book."
Ellison slapped his knee. "You have to—or else return her money and refuse to buy the book. Elmen, I fondly
