“I should just like to know what he told me all that yarn for!” said Johnny to himself; a little crossly. “He surely doesn’t think I ought to give my knife, my new knife, that uncle Rob gave me for a birthday present, to that little Taffy? Why, I don’t even know him!”
And Johnny tried to banish such a ridiculous idea from his mind at once. But somehow it would not be banished. The thought came back to him again and again; how many things he had to make life sweet and pleasant to him; how few the little lonely boy, shut up all day in Jim’s dingy bed room, the window of which did not even look on a street, but on a narrow back yard, where the sun never shone. The more he thought of it, the more it appealed to his pity. And here was a chance,—but no, surely people could not be expected to make such sacrifices as that.
He managed to shake off the troublesome thought for a few minutes, when he showed the knife to his mother and Tiny. They both admired it to his heart’s content, and said what a bargain it was, and what a wonder that nobody had bought it before, and what a suitable thing for him to buy for Uncle Rob’s birthday present to him. But, when he went up to his room, the question again forced itself upon him, and would not be shaken off. Over and over again in his mind, as they had done that other time, the words repeated themselves,—
“And who is my neighbor?”
He did not see Jim again for several days, and this made him unreasonably angry. It seemed to him that Jim had taken things for granted altogether too easily. How did Jim know that he, Johnny, was not waiting for a chance to send the knife to poor little Taffy?
But was he? He really hardly knew himself until one day when, by dint of hard running, he caught Jim, and asked him,—
“See here! How’s that little chap, and what’s gone with you lately?”
“He’s worse,” said Jim, gruffly, “and I’m busy—that’s what’s gone with me. I can’t stop, I’m in a hurry.”
“Oh, very well!” said Johnny, in an offended tone. “I thought we were friends, Jim Brady, but I’ll not bother you any more. Goodbye.”
“Johnny,” said Jim, putting his hand on Johnny’s shoulder as he spoke, “can’t you make any allowance for a fellow’s being in trouble? I can’t stop now, I really and truly can’t, but I’ll be on the corner by the library this afternoon, and if you choose to stop, I’ll talk all you want me to.”