"My—my—mine?"
"Yes."
A sudden rush of color flashed into the face of Tad Butler and crept up to the roots of his hair, his eyes holding those of the hanker in an unflinching gaze.
"I—am sorry, sir; but I cannot accept it."
"What?" exclaimed Mr. Perkins.
"I thank you very much. Believe me, I do. But I could not accept a gift like that from you. You will understand me, won't you? I couldn't—I couldn't do it; that's all."
"I do, my lad. I understand you perfectly," answered the hanker slowly, grasping the lad's hand and gripping it until Tad winced.
"Thank you," murmured Tad, backing from the room, with as much composure as he was able to muster.
Reaching the street, the boy clenched his fingers until the nails dug into the palms of his hands. Then, with shoulders erect, he strode rapidly off down the street to continue his duties at the grocery store.