“Here, Sprague, you are liberal. What’ll you give?”
“My note at ninety days.”
“You might fail before it comes due.”
“Then take three cents. ‘Tis all I have; ‘I can no more, though poor the offering be.’”
“Oh, don’t quote Shakespeare.”
“It isn’t Shakespeare; it’s Milton.”
“Just as much one as the other.”
“Here, Johnny,” said Edward, after going the rounds, “hold your hands, and I’ll pour out the money. You can retire from business now on a fortune.”
Phil was accustomed to be addressed as Johnny, that being the generic name for boy in New York. He deposited the money in his pocket, and, taking his fiddle, played once more in acknowledgment of the donation. The boys now dispersed, leaving Phil to go on his way. He took out the apple with the intention of eating it, when a rude boy snatched it from his hand.
“Give it back,” said Phil, angrily.