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Jeff, Carl and Micky, whose habit of losing these aids to gentility Hugh knew only too well: a penny toy for the Crowe baby; beads for Nita, who accepted them with the air of one conferring a favor, but was secretly uplifted. Hugh looked at a card of bright-colored pencils.

"Would your mother mind if I bought her one of those?"

"Mind!" said Nita. "Daddy wouldn't, anyhow—she's always stealing his!" That settled it: he bought a blue one, after wavering long over the colors.

"You've only got tuppence left, an' you haven't bought a single thing for yourself," said Nita, accusingly.

"I'm going to get mine now." He turned to the grocery counter. "How much lump-sugar can I have for twopence?"

"O-oh, you greedy! You know Jeff won't let you!"

"Silly!" said he, loftily. "That's for Tinker."

"You said it was for yourself!"

"Well, so it is." He took the package—the woman behind the counter had made it a heavy one, for the sake of his curls—and carried it as lovingly as he had carried the shilling. "Well, that's all. I didn't know a shilling could go so quick. Let's go back and give the presents."

It was a great moment. To see his friends' faces when they unwrapped the studs, each declaring that never had he wanted anything so much. To hear the Crowe baby's gurgle of joy, and to watch his instant attempt to eat his present. To go to the blue caravan and watch Mrs. Dan's air of surprise that changed to rapture as the paper twist

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