So Joel, perfectly happy now that he had the telling of the story in his own way, began with great satisfaction, and never stopped to draw breath until he turned to pull out his pocket-book. Then he tugged at Mamsie's big shawl-pin till he grew quite red in the face. At last it was out, and so was the money. "How much is it?" he cried.
"Oh, you want to pay for it?" asked Mr. Persons, with a keen look into his flushed face.
"Yes, sir," Joel bobbed his black head. "How much is it?" he demanded again, this time impatiently. Since it was all settled, he began wildly to think of Ben and Polly and the others.
"Mr. Persons," this time the floor-walker got back of the big office chair, and whispered the information as to who the boy was, without Joel's hearing a word.
Mr. Persons nodded. "Well," he said to Joel, his face not moving a muscle, "you may give me a dollar, my lad, and we'll consider that everything is all squared up in regard to the injury to that doll."
So Joel counted out a dollar from his hoarded silver pieces and put them into Mr. Persons's hand, the floor-walker staring in amazement at his employer. Then he fastened up his pocket again, sticking Mamsie's big shawl-pin in tighter than ever.
"All right, thank you, sir," and he marched out through the rows of men at their desks in the big counting room, all curiously staring at him as he passed.
Outside he found Ben and Polly making anxious inquiries of every one; David following closely, beyond saying a word, and Phronsie, who didn't know that he was lost, only that the poor sick doll had to be left to get a new head on.
"What have you been about, Joe?" cried Ben, for even David was not quite clear how it all had happened.
"Oh, something—" said Joel, carelessly craning his neck to look about on all sides. "Oh, whickets! There she is." And he was gone again, this time in chase of a small cash-girl.