He did not offer to take it. “I haven’t pleaded guilty yet.”
“No,” said Mrs. Denton; “but we know you did it. Peace always thought you did; and now we’ve got you in our power, and you must take it back.”
“But you didn’t use it all. You gave a quarter to the old darkey who whistled. You’re as bad as I am. You do charity, too.”
“No; he earned his quarter. You paid him something yourself,” said the girl.
“He did whistle divinely,” Ray admitted. “How came you to think of asking him to change your bill? I should have thought you’d have given it all to him.”
They had a childlike joy in his railery, which they laughed simply out. “We did want to,” Mrs. Denton said; “but we didn’t know how we could get home.”
“I don’t see but that convicts me.” Ray put out his hand as if to take the note, and then withdrew it. “I suppose I ought to take it,” he began. “But if I did, I should just spend it on myself. And the fact is, I had saved it on myself, or else, perhaps, I shouldn’t have given it to the conductor for you.” He told them how he had economized on his journey, and they laughed together at the picture he gave of his satisfaction in his self-denial.
“Oh, I know that good feeling!” said Mrs. Denton.
“Yes, but you can’t imagine how superior I felt when I handed my dollar over to the conductor. Good is no name for it; and I’ve simply gloated over my own merit ever since. Miss Hughes, you must keep that dollar, and give it to somebody who needs it!”
This was not so novel as it seemed to Ray; but the sisters glanced at each other as if struck with its originality.