He stopped speaking and stopped getting up at the same time. A glint of silver on the sidewalk back of Mr. Barton caught his eye. It was a half-dollar! Jerry sank to a sitting posture and gazed in rapt wonder at this answer to an unsaid prayer.
"You are hurt!" cried Mr. Barton solicitously and stooped to help Jerry up. "Where does it pain you?"
"It's fifty cents!" cried Jerry, his lips unsealed at last, and he scrambled eagerly for the coin.
"Well, there's nothing very painful in that, is there?" laughed Mr. Barton.
Jerry rose, clutching the dirty half-dollar tightly, a light of joyful anticipation in his eyes.
"There's not much need of asking what you will spend it for," observed the drug clerk.
"For a ticket to the circus!" cried Jerry, his eyes sparkling at the thought of future delights.
"I guessed it the first time," said Mr. Barton. "I thought I heard something metallic fall on the sidewalk when you ran into me, but I had such hard work getting my breath back that I forgot all about it."
Such a harrowing thought now popped into Jerry's mind that unconsciously he closed his fingers entirely around the precious half-dollar. What if it were Mr. Barton's! Perhaps he had knocked it out of Mr. Barton's pocket when he ran into him. He had heard the clink of its fall just after the collision, as he lay on the ground.
After a short but sharp struggle with himself, Jerry looked up and held out the money to Mr. Barton. He tried to smile, but was conscious that the twisting of his lips didn't look much like a smile.