“Hold it there . . .” After sixty seconds the saloonkeeper said, “Take it out. Good. Dip it in that water pitcher to cool it . . . Hold it there. All right, now you gotta move quick. Turn it over so the wax plug is down . . . That’s a plug you made, you see, the wax plugs that end of the tube. Do you see?”

“The bottom is plugged.”

“Now take the pitcher and pour the water into the tube. Careful, it doesn’t take much. What would you say that is, two tablespoons?”

“Just about,” Eustace agreed.

“Now, holding it upright, not spilling it, take your finger of your other hand and dip it in the wax . . . Don’t worry, it won’t burn you . . . Still warm, might sting a little, is all.”

Eustace dipped his index finger into the warm, pliable wax.

“Almost done,” said the saloonkeeper. “Scoop up some wax on your finger and use it to plug the other end of the tube.”

Eustace did as he was told, working the wax into the opening and smoothing the edges.

“Do it again, work it in a little more, make sure it is sealed watertight—absolutely watertight. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“O.K., turn it over. Let’s see if no water drips out.”

Eustace turned it over tentatively and held it out the way he used to present A+ projects in shop class.

The saloonkeeper took it from his hand and shook it hard. The plugs held. No water escaped. He dropped it in the leather sack, tugged the drawstrings tight, and returned it to Eustace Weed. “Don’t let it get so warm it melts the wax.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Keep it out of sight ’til somebody tells you where to put it. Then put it where he tells you.”

Utterly mystified, Eustace Weed weighed the sack in his hand and asked, “Is that all?”

“All? Your girl’s name is Daisy Ramsey.” The short, round saloonkeeper picked up the sap and slammed it on his desk so hard the pot jumped. “That is all.”

“I understand.” Eustace blurted quickly, though he understood very little, starting with why the saloonkeeper went through the whole rigmarole with the wax pot. Why didn’t he just hand him the wax-sealed tube in the sack?

The man looked hard at him, then he smiled. “You wonder why all this?” He indicated the pot.

“Yes, sir.”

“So if you lose that which I gave you, you got no excuse. You know how to make another. You’re a flying-machine mechanician, top of the trade. You can make anything. So when someone tells you where to put it, you’ll be ready to put it where he tells you when he tells you. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“O.K., get outta here!”

He signaled the toughs.