The bell rings twice, so I know it’s James.

He knows I’m asleep — he gets up at the crack of dawn — it’s before 10 a.m., so I know he needs my help. Could be his weedeater’s bolt is loose again, and he’s got to do Jeff’s yard. Or, he’s found a critter in need. Or he’s found a student’s flute on the DART bus and needs me to help find the owner.

Or, his hip feels better after months of relentless pain, and he wants me to know the cancerous tumor, that none of us knew existed, relented that day.

No, I’m talking about the time a few years ago … he’s found a lady’s purse sitting on a Casa Linda-area curb. Although he has many talents — friendliness and morality topmost among them — reading’s not in his toolbox.

He wants me to examine the purse’s contents so we can contact its surely upset owner. I find a number and make the call to a grateful lady. While we wait for the lady, talking on my front porch, he wonders if she’ll give him a reward.