d off, the tubes were dropped in the small steel pot, melted until they became liquid, and with my mom's pot holders we were pouring the lead through a small hole in the top of the milk cartons.

The milk cartons were filled with plaster-of-Paris. The white powder everywhere was the plaster before we mixed it with water. In my haste, I had knocked the bag over, and the entire area look like it had been hit by a snowstorm. The milk cartons were the outer containers for plaster-of-Paris molds.

My dad and his friend watched as we carefully poured the molten lead through a small hole in the top of the plaster-of-Paris cube.

"Careful," my dad said.

I nodded without looking up.

Finally, once the pouring was through, I put the steel pot down and smiled at my dad.

"What are you boys doing?" he asked with a cautious smile.

"We're doing what you told me to do. We're going to be rich," I said.

"Yup," said Mike, grinning and nodding his head. "We're partners."

"And what is in those plaster molds?" dad asked.

"Watch," I said. "This should be a good batch."

With a small hammer, I tapped at the seal that divided the cube in

half. Cautiously, I pulled up the top half of the plaster mold and a lead nickel fell out."

"Oh, my God!" my dad said. "You're casting nickels out of lead."

"That's right," Mike said. "We doing as you told us to do. We're making money."

My dad'