“Have you had anything to eat to-day?”
“No, sir.”
“Nor yesterday?”
“No, sir.”
I gave him a half-dollar. A wolfish glare of hunger shot into his eyes as he saw the money. He clutched it with a spasm of haste and started off. I watched his side-long walk down the street, and then went to work, satisfied that he would go off and pack himself full.
It was hardly an hour before he came back, his face brighter than I had seen it in months. He carried a bundle in his live hand. He laid it on my desk, and then fell back on his dead leg while I opened it. I found in the bundle a red tin horse, attached to a blue tin wagon, on which was seated a green tin driver. I looked up in blank astonishment.
“For him!” he said simply. And then he broke down. He turned slowly on his live leg as an axis and leaned against the wall.
“Could you send it to him?” he said at last. “If she knew I sent it, she mightn’t let him have it. He’s never had nothin’ o’ this kind, and I thought it might pearten him up.”
“Bob, is this the money I gave you?”
“Yes, sir.”