'Riches' by Emily Macdonald

The chair’s rockers bicker over the stones on the road. The old man pitches forward and places his feet on the ground. 

“Help me up,” he says to the boy.

The boy steadies the chair, sets his shoulder for the old man to lean on.

“You’ve been good to me,” the old man says, and he pulls a coin from his pocket. “Heads or tails?” 

“What will I win?” asks the boy.

“If you pick right, you’ll win this coin.” 

“Heads!” shouts the boy.

The old man tilts his hat, spins the coin in the summer sun, catches and slaps it onto the back of his hand. 

“You win,” he says. 

The boy’s face widens with delight.

“Double or quits?” says the old man.

“What does that mean?”

“It means if you win again, you get two coins, but if you lose, you’ll have nothing.”

The old man watches confusion ride over the boy’s face. Desire for bright shiny coins in the fist, ones to jangle, to bite with the teeth. A frown considering an empty pocket, an open palm, hunger still watering the mouth.

“If I lose, I’ll have nothing?” the boy plays for time.

“Nothing is something a rich man doesn’t have.”

“Doubles! No, quits! I don’t know,” the boy wails. “Just throw the coin.”

The old man catches with a flick of his wrist. He opens his palm to show the boy he has lost.

“Well done. Now you have something a rich man would envy.”

The boy looks pleased for a moment, then drops his head.

“Here. Spend it wisely.” The old man passes the only coin that he has. 

The boy’s grin is wide. He skips away, sailing his arms like an angel ready for flight. 

Now I’m rich, smiles the old man.