"To Congress Square," said Edward Billings Henry, impatiently. "It's
business, and if I don't get there I'm out of a job, that's all." The boy
mounted the step and clung to the seat, proffering his nickel. "I'll pay
just what I'd pay on the car," he argued, "so you'd be making some money as
well as giving me a lift."
The goggled eyes looked at the nickel in the dirty hand, and then traveled
up and down the small figure back of the hand. The eyes noticed that while
those parts of the boy's anatomy which had been exposed all the morning to
the city dirt had collected grime, the rims, as it were, of the exposed
parts revealed hidden cleanliness.
"Congress Square is an awful way up," urged Edward Billings Henry, "and we
mustn't waste much time; for I would like to get that job." The small hand
extended the nickel enticingly toward the glove. "You'll be earning as much
as the street-car by giving a lift," the boy repeated.
The driver's lips twisted a bit. "That's so," he said. "Huh!" he chuckled,
and gracelessly extended his hand for the nickel. "Get in, my man, and I'll
give you the lift.
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