difference."

He took another turn among the salt barrels and cracker boxes, then
asked suddenly, "What's your name, sonny?"

"Steven," answered the boy, still more surprised.

The old fellow gave another chuckle and rubbed his hands together
delightedly. "Just hear that, will you!" he exclaimed. "Why, that's my
name, my very own name, sir! Well, well, well, well!"

He stared at the child until he began to feel foolish and
uncomfortable. What image of his own vanished youth did that boyish
face recall to the eccentric old banker?

As Mr. Dearborn turned to go Steven started after him.

"Hold on, sonny," called the old gentleman, "I want to shake hands
with my namesake."

He pressed a shining half-dollar into the little mittened hand held
out to him.

"That's for good luck," he said. "I was a boy myself, once. Law, law!
Sometimes I wish I could have stayed one."

Steven hardly knew whether to keep it or not, or what to say. The old
gentleman had resumed conversation with the proprietor and waved him
off impatiently.