“None more so,” was the prompt answer. “She is in poor health, and has three children to support with the product of her needle. If any one needs assistance, it is Mrs. Arnold.”
“Oh! Ah! The widow of Jacob Arnold?”
“The same,” replied Andrew Lyon.
Malcolm's face did not brighten with a feeling of heart-warm benevolence. But he turned slowly away, and opening his money-drawer, very slowly toyed with his fingers amid its contents. At length he took therefrom a dollar bill, and said, as he presented it to Lyon,—signing involuntarily as he did so,—
“I suppose I must do my part. But we are called upon so often.”
The ardour of Andrew Lyon's benevolent feelings suddenly cooled at this unexpected reception. He had entered upon his work under the glow of a pure enthusiasm; anticipating a hearty response the moment his errand was made known.
“I thank you in the widow's name,” said he, as he took the dollar. When he turned from Mr. Malcolm's store, it was with a pressure on his feelings, as if he had asked the coldly-given favour for himself.
It was not without an effort that Lyon compelled himself to call upon Mr. Green, considered the “next best man” on his list. But he entered his place of business with far less confidence than he had felt when calling upon Malcolm. His story told, Green, without a word or smile, drew two half dollars from his pocket and presented them.
“Thank you,” said Lyon.
“Welcome,” returned Green.