Who's sorry now?

needed his own transportation and Jack Summer wanted to sell his motorcycle so he could take Mrs. Towerton to dinner somewhere nice. He rang up Parker at his apartment over the greengrocer’s shop.
    ”Are you in the middle of anything right now?”
    Howard asked.
    ”I’m just reading Mrs. Smithson’s recipe book. You need me?”
    ”No, but you need to know something I’d forgotten to tell you. Jack Summer is looking for a used car and wants to sell his motorcycle. It even has a sidecar. I’ve already told Jack that a vehicle is beyond my budget. But maybe there’s some way to work it out.”
    ”How much does he want to be paid for it?”
    ”I didn’t even ask,” Howard replied. ”You might go over to the newspaper office and see what he says. I shouldn’t tell you this, but he’s a bit anxious to get a real automobile. He also wants to interview you for the next issue of the Voorburg Times. He always wants to introduce newcomers to his readers.”
    ”That’s sort of embarrassing. As for the motorcycle, I’d love to buy it. I’ve got a little bit saved up. Maybe he’d let me make a down payment.”
    ”You and Jack need to work this out yourselves.”
    As soon as the contracts were signed on Tuesday with the Harbinger boys and Mrs. Gasset, progress on the mail sorting station moved quickly. Robert was surprised that all the town council required was a normal business property tax to be paid on the basis of income. And it was only 1.5 percent of gross receipts. That was a lot less than Robert had expected them to ask from Mrs. Gasset. There had been conversations earlier about paying back the cost with half the proceeds of the sale of the boxes and annual fees. Mrs. Gasset would make a good deal more money than was being payed outright. And so she should, Robert thought. Of course, he’d help get everything done as soon as the boxes were completed. Each box needed to be numbered at the back end. Robert, who had fairly good handwriting, would volunteer to do that. And maybe he’d help her out a bit for the first few heavy Monday morning sortings. He was beginning to realize what a swell young woman she was. It would be a pleasure to spend a little free time with her.
    Harry Harbinger had presented two different plans for the setup. The council let him decide which would be easier and most efficient. It was only a few hours after the council had made these decisions that Harry and Jim were at the train station taking detailed measurements. By the end of the day, the actual work had begun. Boxes were being created and glued together with additional nails to make sure they were sturdy.
    Robert was, naturally, getting in their way, offering fruitlessly--to be allowed to help. ”I’ll bet you don’t even own your own hammer,” Harry said.
    ”No, but I could buy my own,” Robert claimed.
    ”Making this happen is enough,” Harry said kindly. ”We know what we’re doing and don’t need anybody’s help.”
    Robert gave up. But he still sat in one of the chairs meant for people waiting for their trains to arrive. He wanted to at least observe.
    At lunchtime, the Harbinger boys unpacked their sandwiches and Robert went to fetch Chief Walker. ”You must see this. The boys are eating their lunch and we can go to Mabel’s afterward.”
    Howard could hardly refuse. ”After all, the mail sorting station is named for you, at my urging.”
    ”Is it really going to be? I thought you were kidding. Wait until I tell Lily this. She’ll be green with envy. Come on, Howard. I want you to see this before the Harbingers are through with their lunch.”
    Lily, somewhat to Robert’s predictions, wasn’t envious. Instead, she praised him for his concern and tenacity. But later in the evening, Robert thought of a few other things that needed to be done. He called Mrs. Gas- set and asked to meet her on one of her breaks to find out where he could locate duplicate numbered tickets for the lottery.
    When he met her at the bench across the street, she already had the information and had written out an address on a small piece of paper. ”It’s one of my jobs to order new tickets for the box office when they start to run low. Here’s the address in Poughkeepsie. If you could buy them before I give my boss my notice, I’d pay you back out of the proceeds of the lottery for the boxes.”
    ”No need to do that,” Robert said.
    ”You might not need the money, but I need to be fair.” Later that evening,