“Not this late in the week,” Mr. Barton informed him.  “It’s too long after pay day for me to have that much money.  I’ve got just thirty-five cents.”

He drew some small coins out of his pocket.

“Yes, it’s all here.  The half-dollar must have been lying on one of the boards that you struck in falling.  Let’s see it.”

He took the money and examined it.

“It was almost covered with dirt,” he said.  “So was one end of both boards.  Hello!  That’s a funny black mark on the other side.  Looks as though somebody had smeared it with black paint.”

“That doesn’t hurt it any, does it?” asked Jerry in trepidation.

“Not a bit!  It’s good for a ticket to the circus.”

“If I hadn’t of run into you, I wouldn’t get to go,” observed Jerry.

“That’s so,” responded Mr. Barton.  “I wouldn’t let any one know you found the money.  Just sneak off to the circus when it comes and buy your ticket.  Danny would find some way to get it away from you if he knew you had it.”

“I guess mebbe he would,” Jerry responded.

“You just keep it to yourself and enjoy the circus,” Mr. Barton advised him and went on to the store.

Jerry trudged slowly back toward Mrs. Mullarkey’s, thinking intently.

The gloom that pervaded the house was so deep that Jerry perceived it as soon as he opened the door.  Danny sat glowering by the window; Celia Jane was weeping unashamed, while Chris and Nora were trying not to show their disappointment.

So Mother ’Larkey had not yet been able to make both ends meet—­those troublesome, refractory ends that made her life a continual round of hard work—­and there were no fifty-cent pieces for the children to buy tickets with to see the elephant jump the fence.  Jerry hugged himself just to feel the half-dollar in his blouse pocket and a glow of exultation ran over his body at the thought that he was going to get to see the circus.

Mrs. Mullarkey, looking tired and worn, was ripping apart the dress for Mrs. Green that she had just finished at noon.  Baby Kathleen sat at her feet, playing with the old rag doll that had once been Nora’s and was now claimed by Celia Jane.

Jerry entered the room slowly and took a seat on the chair without a back.  He said nothing at all and finally Mother ’Larkey looked up at him.

“Why don’t you ask for fifty cents, too?” she inquired.  “Don’t you want to see the circus?”

“Yes’m,” replied Jerry, “but I ain’t got no mother.”

“What difference does that make?” she asked, in a voice sharper than she was accustomed to use in speaking to Jerry.  “Haven’t I done everything a mother could—­”

“Yes’m,” Jerry interrupted hastily, for he didn’t want her to think he thought that.  “But it said to ask your mother for fifty cents and I ain’t got none to ask.”

“Sure and you haven’t, you blessed boy,” said Mother ’Larkey.  “If I had it to give, you wouldn’t need a mother to ask it of.  I wish I could send all of you to the circus and go myself.”