Without a "thank you," the boy held out his hand.
"I guess you don't like that black-eyed girl much," said the young man, teasingly.
"She's a—" and the boy broke into an oath.
"Shut up!" said the young man, with a darkening face. Then with some curiosity he went on, "What did she do to make you talk like that?"
"Spilt me out," replied the boy, with another volley of bad language.
"You young hound," said the man, witheringly, "if she spilt you out, I'll bet you deserved it. I'll not touch your dirty hand. If you want your money, go find it," and throwing the fifty cents in a snow-drift, he went back into the warm station and slammed the door behind him.
Uzziah's troubles were not over, and he had still to learn that the way of the transgressor is a tiresome one. He fumbled desperately in the snow, for he wanted fifty cents above all things in the world just then, but he was destined not to find it; and at last, cold, weary, and yet with all his faults not inclined to wreak his wrath on the pony who stood patiently watching him, he threw himself into the sleigh and sped gloomily homeward. His mother had the shawl, but he had nothing for his trouble, for he counted as nothing and worse than nothing his experience of the maxim that one sly trick inspires another.