Not once did he slacken speed till he reached the corner drug store.
Speechless for lack of breath, he passed the bottle over the counter to
Mr. Barton.

"Well, Jerry, what is it this time?" asked the clerk.

Jerry panted a moment before he could reply.

"Some more of--that cough medicine--for Kathleen."

"That won't take long," said Mr. Barton. "All I've got to do is to pour
it from a big bottle into this little one."

He disappeared behind the prescription case, but was back long before
Jerry's pulse had had time to slow down to its customary beat.

"There you are," he said. "Forty-five cents."

Jerry passed over the precious half-dollar. The pang of regret at the
thought of circus delights, once so nearly his, now beyond his reach, he
resolutely forced out of his mind every time he caught himself thinking
about it. He tried to whistle to help forget the circus, but to his
surprise not a sound issued from his lips. They were too dry to whistle.
Then he suddenly heard the drug clerk exclaim:

"Gee whillikens! This is the identical half-dollar you found this
afternoon! I can tell it by the black mark on it."

"Yes, it is," Jerry admitted in a forlorn tone.