Well, they must all suffer together for his carelessness.
It was his own fault, but it was hard. And he was so tired!
To his amazement he found his eyes were blurred as be watched the
people crowding into the car. What? Was he going to cry like a
baby--he, a great burly man of thirty years?
"It's no use," he thought. "I couldn't do it. The first time I gave
Mary violets was the night she said she'd marry me. I told her then I'd
do my best to make her proud of me. I guess she wouldn't be very proud
of a man who could cheat. She'd rather starve than have a ribbon she
couldn't pay for."
He rang up a dozen fares with a steady hand. The temptation was over.
Six more strokes--then nine without a falter. He even imagined the bell
rang more distinctly than usual, even encouragingly. The car stopped.
Jim flung the door open with a triumphant sweep of his arm. He felt
ready to face the world. But the baby--his arm dropped. It was hard.
He turned to help the young girl who was waiting at the step. Through
the whirling snow he saw her eager face, with a quick recognition
lighting the steady eyes, and wondered dimly, as he stood with his hand
on the signal-strap, where he could have seen her before.
He knew immediately.
"There was a mistake," she said, with a shy tremor in her voice. "You
gave us too much change and here it is.
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