Jerry panted a moment before he could reply.
"Some more of—that cough medicine—for Kathleen."
"That won't take long," said Mr. Barton. "All I've got to do is to pour it from a big bottle into this little one."
He disappeared behind the prescription case, but was back long before Jerry's pulse had had time to slow down to its customary beat.
"There you are," he said. "Forty-five cents."
Jerry passed over the precious half-dollar. The pang of regret at the thought of circus delights, once so nearly his, now beyond his reach, he resolutely forced out of his mind every time he caught himself thinking about it. He tried to whistle to help forget the circus, but to his surprise not a sound issued from his lips. They were too dry to whistle. Then he suddenly heard the drug clerk exclaim:
"Gee whillikens! This is the identical half-dollar you found this afternoon! I can tell it by the black mark on it."
"Yes, it is," Jerry admitted in a forlorn tone.
"So you told about finding it—"
"No, I didn't," interrupted Jerry, "but Kathleen was all out of cough medicine and Mother 'Larkey didn't have no money."