Take your money, Geoff. When I buy Hermy
anything it's goin' to be bought with money as I've earned."
So Mr. Ravenslee thrust the bill back into his pocket and thereafter
walked on, frowning and very silent, as one lost in perplexed thought.
Wherefore, after more than one furtive glance at him, Spike addressed
him with a note of diffidence in his voice.
"You ain't sore with me, are you, Geoff?"
"Sore with you?"
"I mean, because I--I didn't take your money?"
Here Mr. Ravenslee turned to glance down at Spike and clap a hand upon
his shoulder.
"No," he answered, "I'm not sore with you. And I think--yes, I think
your sister is going to be proud of you one day."
And now it was Spike's turn to grow thoughtful, while his companion,
noting the flushed brow and the firm set of the boyish lips, frowned no
longer.
"Hello, there's Tony!" exclaimed Spike as they turned into Forty-second
Street, "over there--behind the pushcart--th' guy with th' peanuts!" And
he pointed where, from amid a throng of vehicles, a gaily painted barrow
emerged, a barrow whereon were peanuts unbaked, baked, and baking as the
shrill small whistle above its stove proclaimed to all and sundry.
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