I had managed to sell all my papers and was coming home in the snow. It was that strange hour in New York when the workers were walking towards home in the evening. I recognized my father near Cooper Union, a frozen figure in an old overcoat standing by a banana cart  . He looked so lonely; tears came to my eyes. Then he saw me, and his face lit with his sad, beautiful smile.     "Arch," he said, "so you have sold your papers! Come and eat a banana."     He offered me one, but I refused it. I felt it important that my father sell his bananas, not give them away. He thought I was shy, and joked with me, and made me eat the banana. It smelled of wet snow.     "You haven't sold many bananas today, Dad," I said.     "What can I do? No one seems to want them," Dad said.     It was true. The crowds pushed home; the sky darkened over the New York buildings; the tall street lamps were lit; street cars and bikes went by. Nobody and nothing in the great city stopped for my father's bananas.    "I ought to yell ," said my father sadly. "I ought to make a big noise like other peddlers  , but it makes my throat sore. Anyway, I'm ashamed of yelling; it makes me feel like a fool."     I had eaten one of his bananas. A voice deep down told me that I ought to pay for it somehow. I must remain here and help my father.     "I'll yell for you, Dad," I volunteered.     "Arch, no," he said, "go home; you have worked enough today. Just tell momma I'll be late."     But I yelled and yelled. My father, standing by, spoke words of praise, and said I was a wonderful yeller. However, nobody else paid attention; nobody listened and came to buy our bananas.     My father tried to stop me at last. He said, "That was wonderful yelling, Arch. But it's just we are unlucky today! Let's go home."     I insisted on keeping up my yells. But at last my father persuaded me to leave with him. The son yelled in order to   _  .
prove he was angry show his excitement get the praise of his father help his father sell bananas