"Well, there's nothing very painful in that, is there?" laughed Mr.
Barton.
Jerry rose, clutching the dirty half-dollar tightly, a light of joyful
anticipation in his eyes.
"There's not much need of asking what you will spend it for," observed
the drug clerk.
"For a ticket to the circus!" cried Jerry, his eyes sparkling at the
thought of future delights.
"I guessed it the first time," said Mr. Barton. "I thought I heard
something metallic fall on the sidewalk when you ran into me, but I had
such hard work getting my breath back that I forgot all about it."
Such a harrowing thought now popped into Jerry's mind that unconsciously
he closed his fingers entirely around the precious half-dollar. What if
it were Mr. Barton's! Perhaps he had knocked it out of Mr. Barton's
pocket when he ran into him. He had heard the clink of its fall just
after the collision, as he lay on the ground.
After a short but sharp struggle with himself, Jerry looked up and held
out the money to Mr. Barton. He tried to smile, but was conscious that
the twisting of his lips didn't look much like a smile.
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