"Me—bring—money. Play—tunes. You—buy—food," Kent said very slowly and distinctly, pausing between every word. "He's a foreigner, you know," he explained over his shoulder to the boys. "He no understand. You have to talk pigeon English to him. See how he catches on to what I said?"
The old face had grown less dull and weary. A slow light seemed to illumine it. As the little stream of pennies dripped into the tremulous, wrinkled old hand, it suddenly flashed into a smile. Then a stream of strange words issued from the old man's lips. They tripped over each other and made weird, indistinguishable combinations of sound, but the boys translated them by the light of that smile. How pleased the old fellow was! How he fingered over the pennies exultantly!
"Tell the whole story, old man," Old Tilly said quietly as they mounted their wheels and glided off. "It looks like a reg'lar novel!"
"Yes, hurry up, can't you!" impatiently Jot urged. "Begin at the beginning, and go clear through to the end."
"You've helped folks. Why shouldn't I? There weren't any old ladies with empty water pails, or any cows in corn lots, so I had to take up with the poor old organ-grinder. That's all."
"All!" scoffed Jot, "Go on with the rest of it, Kent Eddy!"
"Isn't any 'rest,'" grunted Kent, "unless you count the organ-grinder; he had some-looked as if he'd rested. Well, sir"—Kent suddenly woke up—"but without any fooling, you ought to have seen that old chap when I came on him. He was all used up—heat, you know. There was a creek, back a ways, and the water kind of pulled him up. He couldn't talk English, but he offered me a black two-cent piece for pay. He turned his pocket out to find it. That set me to thinking I'd make him a little richer."
"Of course! Go on!" hurried Jot.
"Isn't any 'on.'"
"There's honor," Old Tilly cried softly. "I say that was splendid,
Kentie! I like that!"