He collapses like one whose last hope is gone.
"Let us just see," I say.
And we go to our drawer and stare at it long and deeply.
"We might perhaps manage it this way, that I give you five cents now. And then I should have your cent and the next four cents. . . ."
He interrupts me with a loud shout. I take out my purse, give him five cents and take one cent out of the drawer:
"That won't be pleasant next Sunday," I say, "and the next and the next and the next. . . ."
But the thoughtless youth is gone.
Of course, the instalments of his debt are paid off with great ceremony. He is always on the spot himself when the drawer is opened and sees how the requisite cent is removed and finds its way into my pocket instead of his.
The first time, all goes well. It is simply an amusing thing that I should have the cent; and the skipping-rope is still fresh in his memory, because of the pangs which he underwent before its purchase. Next Sunday, already the thing is not quite so pleasant and, when the fourth instalment falls due, my little boy's face looks very gloomy:
"Is anything the matter?" I ask.