again," he made of that; "ain't going to run no chances of losing
the place." And then for a long time she stood there before the
picture, so deeply and so strangely quiet that he could not
translate her. "I can't just get the run of it," was his bewildered
conclusion. "I don't see why it should make anybody act like that."
And yet he must have understood more than he knew, for suddenly he
was seeing her through a blur of tears.

As he began shutting up for the night he was so excited about the
way she looked when she finally turned away that it never occurred
to him to be depressed about her inability to pay the price.

He kept thinking of her, wondering about her, during the next day.
At a little before six he took up his station near the front window.
Once more the current of workers flowed by. "I'm an old fool," he
told himself, irritated at the wait; "as if it makes any difference
whether she comes or not--when she can't buy it, anyhow. She's just
as big a fool as I am--liking it when she can't have it, only I'm
the biggest fool of all--caring whether she likes it or not." But
just then the girl passed quickly by a crowd of girls who were ahead
of her and came hurrying across the street. She was walking fast,
and looked excited and anxious. "Afraid it might be gone," he
said--adding, grimly: "Needn't worry much about that."

She came up to the picture as some people would enter a church. And
yet the joy which flooded her face is not well known to churches.
"I'll tell you what it's like"--the old man's thoughts stumbling
right into the heart of it--"it's like someone that's been wandering
round in a desert country all of a sudden coming on a spring. She's
_thirsty_--she's drinking it in--she can't get enough of it.