"Give my win to me in a single bill," I said to the banker, "and blow
yourself off with the change."
Joe walked down the street with me--for companionship and a little air
before turning in, he said, but I imagine a desire to keep his eye on his
treasure a while longer had something to do with his taking that early
morning stroll. We passed several of those forlorn figures that hurry
through the slowly-awakening streets to bed or to work. Finally, there came
by an old, old woman--a scrubwoman, I guess, on her way home from cleaning
some office building. Beside her was a thin little boy, hopping along on a
crutch. I stopped them.
"Hold out your hand," said I to the boy, and he did. I laid the five
hundred-dollar bill in it. "Now, shut your fingers tight over that," said
I, "and don't open them till you get home. Then tell your mother to do what
she likes with it." And we left them gaping after us, speechless before
this fairy story come true.
"You must be looking hard for luck to-day," said Joe, who understood this
transaction where another might have thought it a showy and not very wise
charity. "They'll stop in at the church and pray for you, and burn a
candle."
"I hope so," said I, "for God knows I need it.
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