“That makes it out,” he said. “Four bits in pennies. I was aiming to take them to the bank but you can save me the trip. You want to count um?”
“Yes,” his uncle said. “But you’re the one paying the money. You’re the one to count them.”
“It’s fifty of them,” Lucas said.
“This is business,” his uncle said. So Lucas unknotted the sack and dumped the pennies out on the desk and counted them one by one moving each one with his forefinger into the first small mass of dimes and nickels, counting aloud, then snapped the purse shut and put it back inside his coat and with the other hand shoved the whole mass of coins and the crumpled bill across the table until the desk blotter stopped them and took a bandana handkerchief from the side pocket of the coat and wiped his hands and put the handkerchief back and stood again intractable and calm and not looking at either of them now while the fixed blaring of the radios and the blatting creep of the automobile horns and all the rest of the whole County’s Saturday uproar came up on the bright afternoon.
“Now what?” his uncle said. “What are you waiting for now?”
“My receipt,” Lucas said.
THE END.