Hmm, thought Pastor John. Was it possible that young William was being cagey?
No. He wasn’t the sort. Guileless as he was, he would share a sandwich if he had one. Unfortunately, whatever sandwich he’d had the good sense to pack had probably been eaten. For if runaway boys had the unusual foresight to pack some food, what they lacked was the self-discipline to ration it out.
Pastor John frowned.
What charity the Good Lord bestows upon the presumptuous, He does so in the form of disappointment. This was a lesson that John had taught many times under many tents to many souls and to great effect. And yet, whenever proof of the lesson emerged in the course of his own interactions, it always seemed such an unpleasant surprise.
—You should probably turn off your light, said Pastor John a little sourly. So that you don’t waste the batteries.
Seeing the wisdom in the suggestion, the boy picked up his flashlight and clicked it off. But when he reached for his rucksack in order to stow it away, a delicate sound emanated from the bag.
Upon hearing it, Pastor John sat a little more upright and the frown disappeared from his face.
Was it a sound that he recognized? Why, it was a sound so familiar, so unexpected, and so welcome that it stimulated every fiber of his being—in the manner that the rustle of a field mouse in the autumn leaves will stimulate a cat. For what had emanated from the rucksack was the unmistakable jangle of coins.
As the boy tucked the flashlight away, Pastor John could see the top of a tobacco tin and hear the currency shifting musically inside it. Not pennies and nickels, mind you, which announce themselves with an appropriate poverty of sound. These were almost certainly half-or silver dollars.
Under the circumstances, Pastor John felt the urge to grin, to laugh, even to sing. But he was, above all else, a man of experience. So instead, he offered the boy the teasing smile of an old familiar.
—What’s that you have there, young William? Is that tobacco I see? Don’t tell me you indulge in the smoking of cigarettes?
—No, Pastor. I don’t smoke cigarettes.
—Thank goodness. But why, pray tell, are you lugging about such a tin?
—It’s where I keep my collection.
—A collection, you say! Oh, how I love a collection. May I see it?
The boy took the tin from his bag, but despite having been so ready to share his flashlight and book, he was visibly reluctant to exhibit his collection.
Once again, the pastor found himself wondering if young William was not quite as na?ve as he pretended to be. But following the boy’s gaze to the boxcar’s rough and dusty floor, Pastor John realized that if the boy hesitated, it was because he didn’t feel the surface a worthy one.
It was perfectly natural, conceded John, for a collector of fine china or rare manuscripts to be finicky about the surfaces on which his prized possessions were laid. But when it comes to metal currencies, surely one surface was as good as the next. After all, within its lifetime a typical coin is likely to journey from the coffers of a magnate to the palm of a beggar and back again many times over. It has found itself on poker tables and in offering plates. It has been carried into battle in the boot of a patriot and lost among the velvety cushions of a young lady’s boudoir. Why, the typical coin has circumnavigated the globe and sailed the Seven Seas.
There was hardly any call for such finickiness. The coins would be as ready to fulfill their purpose after being spread across the floor of a boxcar as they were on the day they were struck at the mint. All the boy needed was a little encouragement.
—Here, said Pastor John, let me help.
But when Pastor John reached out, the boy—who still had his hands on his tin and his eye on the floor—pulled back.
Reflexes being what they are, the boy’s sudden backward motion prompted the pastor to lurch forward.
Now they both had their hands on the tin.
The boy showed an almost admirable determination as he pulled it toward his chest, but the strength of a child is no match for that of a grown man, and a moment later the tin was in the pastor’s possession. Holding it off to the side with his right hand, John held his left against the boy’s chest in order to keep him at bay.
—Mind yourself, William, he cautioned.
But as it turned out, he needn’t have. For the boy was no longer trying to reclaim the tin or its contents. Like one who has been taken with the Spirit of the Lord, the boy was now shaking his head and uttering incoherent phrases, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. With his rucksack pulled tightly into his lap, he was clearly agitated, but also contained.