So Bobby was undisturbed, save that the governess protested that he heard nothing she told him, and was absent-minded at his lessons. But as she was always protesting about something, no one paid any attention. Bobby drew ahead on his pocket allowance without question, and as his birthday was not far off, asked for “the dollar to grow on” in advance. He always received a dollar for each year, which went into the bank, and a dollar to grow on, which was his own to spend.
With the dollar he made a number of purchases candles and candlestick, a toy pistol and caps, one of the masks for the Carnival, now displayed in all the windows, a kitchen-knife, wooden plates, and a piece of bacon.
Now and then he appeared at the Scenic Railway, abstracted and viewing with a calculating eye the furnishings of the engine-room and workshop. From there disappeared a broken chair, a piece of old carpet, discarded from a car, and a large padlock, but the latter he asked for and obtained.
His occasional visits to the Railway, however, found him in old Adelbert’s shack. He filled his pockets with charcoal from the pail beside the stove, and made cautious inquiries as to methods of cooking potatoes. But the pall of old Adelbert’s gloom penetrated at last even through the boy’s abstraction.
“I hope your daughter is not worse,” he said politely, during one of his visits to the ticket-booth.
“She is well. She recovers strength rapidly.”
“And the new uniform—does it fit, you?”
“I do not know,” said old Adelbert grimly. “I have not seen it recently.”
“On the day of the procession we are all going to watch for you. I’ll tell you where we twill be, so you can look for us.”
“There will be no procession.”