“It means that I never have been able to do what I was meant to do, and what I have all my life been trying to do.”
“What’s that?” said Carl.
“Keep money.”
“You shall keep my cent for me,” said Carl.
“Think of that! A red cent! Anything might hold a red cent. I am of no use in the world.”
“Yes, you are,” said Carl,—“to carry my cent.”
“You might carry it yourself,” said the purse.
“No, I couldn’t,” said Carl. “My pockets are full.”
“You might lose it, then. It’s of no use to keep one cent. You might as well have none.”
“No, I mightn’t,” said Carl; “and you’ve got to keep it: and you’ve got to tell me your story, too.”