“Oh! hello there, bub!” observed Mr. Al Hewett rebukingly. “You mustn’t touch them cards, y’ know.”
The boy stared at him from under puckered brows, his rosy mouth half opened.
“What are they for?” he demanded.
“Why, to sen’ to folks, Jimmy,” explained Mr. Hewett, with a return of his wonted good humor. “Easter greetings, views of our town, et cetery. Want one t’ sen’ t’ y’r bes’ girl?”
“Yes, I do,” said the child earnestly. “I want one for—for Barb’ra. I want this one.”
He laid a proprietary hand on a Christmas tree sparkling with tinsel lights and surmounted by the legend, “I wish you a merry Christmas.”
“Well, son, that card’ll cost you a nickel, seein’ it’s early in the season,” responded the youth humorously. “A nickel apiece; three fer ten. Shan’t I wrap you up an Easter greetin’ an’ th’ Meth’dist church along with it?”
The boy was engaged in untying a hard knot in the corner of his handkerchief.
“I’ve got ten cents an’ a nickel,” he said. “An’ I want ten cents’ worth of m’lasses an’ the mail an’ that card. It’s my birfday,” he added proudly, “an’ Barb’ra said I could buy anything I wanted with the nickel. She’s goin’ to make me some popcorn balls with the m’lasses.”
“How old are you, Jimmy?” inquired the youth, as he tied up the card in brown paper with a pink string, and languidly deposited the nickel in the till. “‘Bout a hunderd, I s’pose.”