“I don’t take anything from anybody,” he retorted doggedly.
“Ah; that’s small-minded,” she accused. “That’s ungenerous. I wouldn’t think that of you.”
He strode along in moody thought for a few paces. Presently he turned to her a rigid face. “If you had ever had to accept food to keep you alive, you’d understand.”
For a moment she was shocked and sorry. Then her tact asserted itself. “But I have,” she said readily, “all my life. Most of us do.”
The hard muscles around his mouth relaxed. “You remind me,” he said, “that I’m not as real a socialist as I thought. Nevertheless, that rankles in my memory. When I got my first job, I swore I’d never accept anything from anybody again. One of the passengers on your train tried to tip me a hundred dollars.”
“He must have been a fool,” said Io scornfully.
Banneker held open the station-door for her. “I’ve got to send a wire or two,” said he. “Take a look at this. It may give some news about general railroad conditions.” He handed her the newspaper which had arrived that morning.
When he came out again, the station was empty.
Io was gone. So was the newspaper.