So she thought him a thief—was ashamed of him—believed the worst of him before giving him a chance to explain. Jerry felt such a deep hurt he felt like crying but he wasn't going to let anybody see him cry. And if that was what his mother thought of him, he wasn't going to stay around here. Not after she had looked at him as if she wished he did not belong in her family.
Jerry slammed the box of candy so hard on the table that the cover opened and some of the candy fell out.
"I paid the bill with the money. Ask Mr. Bartlett if you don't believe me. I was going to surprise you by showing you the bonus he gives for charging a month's groceries. I didn't spend a cent of your old money. I—" Jerry suddenly could not endure being there a second longer. He rushed out, slamming the door behind him.
Rage sent Jerry hurrying down his street and out to Massachusetts Avenue. He was so hurt and angry he could hardly see straight. He would run away from home. He would leave Washington. He would go somewhere a long way off. He would go where nobody would be likely to accuse him unjustly of being a thief. He walked rapidly, almost running in his hurry to leave home.
Where should he go? Jerry did not have even the bus fare to go to town, let alone get out of the city. But he had two feet, didn't he? Maybe after he decided where he was going he would hitchhike. Jerry knew his mother disapproved of hitchhiking but why should he pay any attention to that now, after she had believed him to be a thief? Jerry made no effort, however, to hitch a ride. He walked and walked.
There were azaleas in bloom in some of the yards he passed. Bushes of faded lilacs. Bright beds of tulips and pansies. Jerry did not notice them. He was in no mood to enjoy flowers. He was about a mile from home when he remembered hearing a guest say to his mother, "Florida is really delightful in the spring. And after the winter visitors have left the prices go down."
Jerry thought it might be a good idea to go where the prices had gone down. Be easier for him to earn enough to live on. A lot of people went fishing off the coast of Florida. Maybe he could help out on some fishing boat. Jerry liked to fish and he liked boats. That idea appealed to him. But he realized that it was a long, long way to Florida from Washington, D. C. It was even a long way—five miles at least—from Jerry's house to Memorial Bridge, over which he would cross the Potomac into the state of Virginia.
As Jerry went along the part of Massachusetts Avenue which has many foreign embassies, it occurred to him that he might be seeing Washington for the last time. So he looked hard at the white Venezuelan Embassy and at the red brick British Embassy. Those were his two favorites, and he wanted to remember how they looked.