"Is it enough to buy a birthdays?" he asked, stammering in his eagerness.
The lady gasped at the question and the man was too staggered to do anything at first; finally he exploded into that huge laughter which always seemed to Bobby to fill the room. He didn't mind the laughter for he knew the man was not making fun of him.
"I don't know, Bobby," said the man when he had stopped laughing. "I've never heard of anybody selling his birthday. You might try and see."
Bobby turned at once to the Lady Who Likes Little Boys.
"Your little boy ain't not never coming back," he fairly stammered in his excitement. "Would he sell me a birthdays?"
And he held out the round, shining dollar.
The lady shrank back from him and went suddenly all white. Bobby knew he had done something wrong, but couldn't for the life of him imagine what it was.
The father of the boy with seven birthdays went quickly to his wife.
"He's got grit and perseverance," said the man. "A birthday looks good to him and he won't give up till he gets one. It would make him happy as a king, Alice."