that's what you're after," said the Jew, who had already reproached himself for his confiding generosity.
"It's not that I'm after," said Dickie, with dignity. "I wish to repay you."
"Got the money?" said the Jew, laughing not unkindly.
"No," said Dickie; "but I've got this." He handed the little box across the counter.
"Where'd you get it?"
"I made it."
The pawnbroker laughed again. "Well, well, I'll ask no questions and you'll tell me no lies, eh?"
"I shall certainly tell you no lies," said Dickie, with the dignity of the dream boy who was not a cripple and was heir to a great and gentle name; "will you take it instead of the money?"
The pawnbroker turned the box over in his hands, while kindness and honesty struggled fiercely within him against the habits of a business life. Dickie eyed the china vases and concertinas and teaspoons tied together in fan shape, and waited silently.
"It's worth more than what I lent you," the man said at last with an effort; "and it isn't every one who would own that, mind you."
"I know it isn't, said Dickie; "will you please take it to pay my debt to you, and if it is worth more, accept it as a grateful gift from one who is still gratefully your debtor."
"You'd make your fortune on the halls," said
