Every afternoon except Sunday, Bobby would fold forty-seven newspapers in thirds, slip rubber bands around them, stuff them into his saddlebags and set off on his bike.
He tossed papers onto the driveways of all his customers, except one: Mrs. Davis. She was old and lived alone. She insisted Bobby bring the paper to her front door. She was waiting and eager to chat. Bobby was in a hurry but he always took time to listen to whatever Mrs. Davis had to say.
Mrs. Davis wasn’t a big tipper. But when she died, she left Bobby a small fortune.
He tossed papers onto the driveways of all his customers, except one: Mrs. Davis. She was old and lived alone. She insisted Bobby bring the paper to her front door. She was waiting and eager to chat. Bobby was in a hurry but he always took time to listen to whatever Mrs. Davis had to say.
Mrs. Davis wasn’t a big tipper. But when she died, she left Bobby a small fortune.
