"I'm crazy, I
guess! I know I'm about as miserable an object as there is in the
world."
Bart ran after him, drawing a quarter from his pocket. He detained the
man by seizing his arm.
"See here," he said, "you take that, and any time you're hungry just go
up to the house and tell my mother, will you?"
"Bless her--and you, too!" murmured the man, with a hoarse catch in his
throat. "I'll take the money, for I need it desperately bad, but don't
you fret--it will come back. Yes! it will come back, double, the day I
catch the man who squeezed all the comfort out of my life!"
He dashed away with a strange cry. Bart, half decided that he was
demented, watched him disappear in the direction of a cheap eating house
just beyond the tracks, and started homewards more or less sobered and
thoughtful over the peculiar incident.
It was nearly eight o'clock when Bart got through with his supper, did
his house chores, mended a broken toy pistol for one junior brother,
made up a list of purchases of torpedoes, baby-crackers and punk for the
other, and helped his sisters in various ways.
Bart was soon in the midst of the fray.
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