If the dollar Quinby Graham tossed up on New Year's eve had not elected to slip through his fingers and roll down the sewer grating, there might have been no story to write. Quin had said, "Tails, yes"; and who knows but that down there under the pavement that coin of fate was registering "Heads, no"? It was useless to suggest trying it over, however, for neither of the young privates with town leave for twenty-four hours possessed another coin. The heavier of the two boys, Cass Martel,--the lame one, whose nose began quite seriously, as if it had every intention of being a nose, then changed abruptly into a button,--scraped the snow from the sewer grating with his cane, and swore savagely …
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