"That doesn't hurt it any, does it?" asked Jerry in trepidation.
"Not a bit! It's good for a ticket to the circus."
"If I hadn't of run into you, I wouldn't get to go," observed Jerry.
"That's so," responded Mr. Barton. "I wouldn't let any one know you found the money. Just sneak off to the circus when it comes and buy your ticket. Danny would find some way to get it away from you if he knew you had it."
"I guess mebbe he would," Jerry responded.
"You just keep it to yourself and enjoy the circus," Mr. Barton advised him and went on to the store.
Jerry trudged slowly back toward Mrs. Mullarkey's, thinking intently.
The gloom that pervaded the house was so deep that Jerry perceived it as soon as he opened the door. Danny sat glowering by the window; Celia Jane was weeping unashamed, while Chris and Nora were trying not to show their disappointment.
So Mother 'Larkey had not yet been able to make both ends meet—those troublesome, refractory ends that made her life a continual round of hard work—and there were no fifty-cent pieces for the children to buy tickets with to see the elephant jump the fence. Jerry hugged himself just to feel the half-dollar in his blouse pocket and a glow of exultation ran over his body at the thought that he was going to get to see the circus.
Mrs. Mullarkey, looking tired and worn, was ripping apart the dress for Mrs. Green that she had just finished at noon. Baby Kathleen sat at her feet, playing with the old rag doll that had once been Nora's and was now claimed by Celia Jane.