“Here!” He thrust a hand into the mail bag, to secure the smallest package.
“Let me have it.” The man grasped it eagerly, then sprang away up the stairs, leaving the astonished boy to stand and stare.
“Well,” he thought after a time, “guess that’s about all of that.” He turned, about to go, when a thought struck him.
He had no receipt for the package. What proof had he that it had been delivered at all?
“Won’t do,” he told himself. “I’m in deep enough now. Got to have a receipt.”
He had turned about and stood undecided whether to ring the bell at once or wait, when suddenly a woman with a very beautiful face appeared before him.
“You brought the medicine. It will save her. The doctor says it will be all right now. How can we thank you!” She all but embraced him.
Curlie took a backward step. He swallowed hard twice. Then he spoke. “You—you might just sign a receipt saying you received the package.”
“Certainly. Where is the form?”
“I—I haven’t any. You see,” he half apologized, “I was forced to land in a pasture. I knew about the medicine. I got through—don’t matter how. Then I—I cut the sack so I could deliver the medicine. You see I—”