They had
accomplished, perhaps, half the distance, when, to his surprise,
George Barry entered the car.
"How do you happen to be here, at this time, Barry?" he asked.
"I thought you were attending to business."
"I closed up for a couple of hours, having an errand at home.
Where have you been?"
"To Tiffany's."
"What, the jewelers?"
"Yes."
"To buy a diamond ring, I suppose," said Barry, jocosely.
"No--not to buy, but to sell one."
"You are joking," said his companion, incredulously.
"No, I am not. The ring belongs to my mother. I am trying to
raise money enough on it to buy you out."
"I didn't know your mother was rich enough to indulge in such
expensive jewelry."
"She isn't, and that's the reason I am trying to sell it."
"I mean, I didn't think she was ever rich enough."
"I'll explain it," said Paul. "The ring was found some time
since in Central Park. As no owner has ever appeared, though we
advertised it, we consider that it belongs to us."
"How much is it worth?"
"Mr. Tiffany offered two hundred and fifty dollars for it."
Barry uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"Well, that is what I call luck. Of course, you accepted it."
"I intend to do so; but I must bring some gentleman who will
guarantee that I am all right and have the right to sell it.
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