"Say, Betty, I'm a fool man anyway. Don't take any sort of notice. I didn't mean a thing. Now here's fifty, and you can have any more you need."
He looked straight into her eyes, which at once responded to his anxious smile. But she did not attempt to take the money. She shook her head.
"Too much."
But he pushed the bills into her hand.
"You can't refuse," he said. "You see, it's for the kiddies. It isn't just for you."
When Dave insisted refusal was useless. Betty had long since learned that. Besides, as he said, it was for the "kiddies." She took the money, and he sat and watched her as she folded the bills into her pocketbook. The girl looked up at the sound of a short laugh.
"What's that for?" she demanded, her brown eyes seriously inquiring.
"Oh, just nothing. I was thinking."
The man glanced slowly about him. He looked up at the brilliant summer sun. Then his eyes rested upon the rough exterior of his unpretentious office.
"It meant something," asserted Betty. "I hate people to laugh—in that way."