Justice Done by Jan Burke Page A

produced a small coin purse, and from this, a quarter. He handed the coin to Andrew and said, “Go on, there’s a store right over there. Spend it on anything you like. Two bits, jest for yerself.”
    One might think that a child raised among the luxuries of the Masters household might snub a mere twenty-five cents, but it was, in fact, the first coin that had ever been given to Andrew. Nothing so mundane as legal tender had ever before been allowed within his grasp: all purchases, all exchanges of money, were in the hands of his elders and their employees. Never before had he enjoyed anything that might be called his own money.
    He glanced up from the coin to see a look of envy on his brother’s face. He knew what he saw there well enough—from not long after the day Charlie was born, Andrew had often worn that look of envy. The fair-haired, sweet-tempered Charlie was more often in favor with his parents and the servants than was Andrew, who tended to be what Mama called “a willful child.” This look of envy, coming from Charlie, was almost exclusively limited to those rare occasions when the boys were visited by their grandparents, the only people who looked upon Andrew with anything resembling favoritism. And now, staring at the shiny coin, Charlie was positively green.
    For Andrew, the quarter’s value grew.
    â€œGo on,” Jack was saying. “We’ll wait here for you.”
    â€œI wanna go with you,” Charlie cried as Jack helped Andrew down from the buggy.
    â€œIt’s my birthday,” Andrew said, turning his back on his brother, skipping his way to the store.
    The store was of a type his parents would undoubtedly disdain. The windows were dusty, as were the tops of many of the jars and cans on the shelves. But to a boy of seven with two bits in his pocket, it was a palace of curiosities—buttons and ribbons, pencils and pipes, razors, and soap—all received Andrew’s study. He held his hands behind his back, not wanting to bring about the wrath of the palace’s king, a sturdy balding man who stood behind the counter.
    The proprietor, seeing the fine quality of the material and workmanship in Andrew’s cap, shirt, knickerbockers, and silver buckled shoes (few of his adult customers wore footwear as fine as the boy’s), and noting the youth’s quiet politeness, was himself all patience and kindness. Indeed, these were hard, lean years, and it would serve no purpose to turn away any customer. This boy’s mother would be along soon, he thought, rubbing his hands together.
    Andrew continued to stroll slowly through the narrow aisles. The air in the store was redolent with what he found to be an unusual mixture of scents: tobacco, leather, coffee, cheese, peppermint, and vinegar. He saved for last an examination of the jars on the counter—horehound candy, licorice, and all manner of other delights.
    But each potential purchase was quickly dismissed as one other thought continued to occur to Andrew: taking home a piece of horehound candy or a peppermint would mean parting with his quarter. His lovely, shining quarter, with its full-figured Liberty seated in flowing robes, its eagle on the back. His hand closed tightly around it. No, it was his two bits.
    It occurred to him that he need not spend his quarter in this store on this day, and the more he considered this idea, the better he liked it. The quarter itself was a prize, and if Charlie should nettle him, he would pull the shiny coin from his pocket and hold it before his younger brother. This thought of Charlie made him mindful of the fact that he had been in this store for quite some time now, and that Jack and Phil—especially Phil—might be angry with him for dawdling. He suddenly found himself uneasy over having left Charlie with only those two coarse men to keep him company. He bid the dismayed shopkeeper good day and left the store.
    He was startled to find the