Also, in consequence, along the curb was ranged a
fretting, impatient, helpless crowd, among whom the most anxious was
probably Edward Billings Henry.
In stature Edward Billings Henry was briefer than his name would indicate,
but to a certain two-room dwelling on Jackson Street he made up in
importance what he lacked in height; and it was his overwhelming sense of
this importance which made every thin muscle taut and strained every nerve
as he stood in the forefront of the crowd, his bare feet planted on the
cold asphalt, one hand gripping his remaining stock of papers, the other
clutching a nickel.
"I never was in a tearing hurry in my life but that this thing happened!"
exploded a man just behind the boy.
Edward Billings Henry turned and looked up. The man was jingling a lot of
loose coins in his pocket. The boy looked at his one nickel, and said, with
conviction, "You can't need to have 'em go like I do."
The big man stared down at the little man, in surprise, with a gruff "Huh?"
but Edward Billings Henry had no time to repeat. His hope had revived. The
two men who lay on their backs under the injured car began to crawl out,
and the boy rushed forward.
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