When he had finished eating Skip went back to the room above the garage, threw the bedding together, and flopped on the bed. He had some planning to do; he had to get to Las Vegas by the day after tomorrow, when Karen said that Stolz would probably return. His jalopp would never hold up for such a grind. He considered going by bus; but though the fare would only be a little over fifteen dollars roundtrip, Skip had little hope of getting the amount out of his uncle. Karen either. Old lady Havermann kept her on nickels and dimes. The answer, obviously, was to hitchhike. Take a local bus for two bits, get as far out on the highway as possible, use his thumb. The prospect bored him, but getting to Las Vegas and checking on Stolz was a necessary precaution. Skip was innately suspicious.

When Skip was fifteen he’d been arrested for the first time for driving a stolen car. The car had been loaned him by a school friend who had been positive it belonged to his old maid aunt, who didn’t mind who drove it. In this way Skip got his name in the police records, and he learned distrust. Before he did anything about the money in the Havermann house he intended to check its source.

It was one thing to rob an old woman who would start screaming for the cops, and another to steal from a gambler hiding his dough from Uncle Whiskers and the tax collectors.

He had also to think up an excuse to give to the typing teacher and the bookkeeping teacher for a two- or three-day absence. In spite of what he had told Karen, he had no intention of giving up the classes until the other thing had been accomplished and the money was in his possession. Uncle Willy only allowed him to stay here sharing Mr. Chilworth’s spare bounty because he was learning a trade.

He decided to palm off a story on the teachers about his brother in Fresno, sick, wanted to see him. Skip had a brother who lived near Fresno, ran a vineyard, a winery and a fig orchard, and, sick or well, wouldn’t want anything further to do with him. He had a Presbyterian wife and three kids. The whole family was, in Skip’s opinion, fantastically law-abiding.

Skip was digging in the closet for a zipper bag he recalled having seen there when he heard his uncle come softly up the stairs and into the room. “Skip? You in here?”

Skip backed from the closet, the dusty bag in his hand. “Yeah. Look, do you mind if I use this for a couple of days?”

His uncle studied the bag. “Why do you want it?”