“I’d rather not take it, sir,” said the boy, his lids lowered and his gaze on the floor. “I hope ye don’t mind, sir.”
“Why, I don’t understand—”
“You—you was good to my little brother, Jimmy, when he cut his foot, and—and I’d rather not take anything, sir.”
Locke laughed for the first time that day, slipping the piece of silver into the genuinely unwilling hand of the boy.
“I reckon I owe Jimmy and his friends something, instead of the shoe being on the other foot,” he said enigmatically. “So Jimmy is your brother? I didn’t know that. You haven’t a high opinion of me as a pitcher, have you, Sam?”
“Oh, I was jest talkin’ to hear myself talk,” answered the boy quickly, his face turning crimson. “Did Jimmy tell you that?”
“I overheard it quite by accident. How’s his foot?”
“Oh, he ain’t caperin’ round on it much yit; but it’ll be all right pretty soon. I wisht you’d take this half back. Paw, he asked the doc, and the doc, he said there warn’t nothin’ t’ pay for tendin’ Jimmy’s foot, ’cause you had paid; an’ I’d like ter do somethin’ to sorter make it square.”
“All right; keep the half now, and we’ll begin afresh. Now that I know I can do it, I’ll impose on you frightfully; I’ll keep you hopping for me in great shape. Say, hustle along and get that suit to the tailor, or he’ll not have it pressed for me to wear this evening; and I may want it.” He swung the door wide open, pushed the boy out, and closed it behind him.
“Fust time,” observed Henry Cope, “I ever knew a Bryant t’ try to refuse money. They’re a pretty shif’less, worthless bunch, that family.”