Ernest looked at this man as he entered. He didn't remember to have
met him before, nor was there anything to attract him in his
appearance.

"How are you, Ernest?" said Joe Marks, cordially. "How's Uncle Peter?"

"He's pretty bad, Joe. He thinks he's going to die."

"Not so bad as that, surely."

"Yes, I guess he's right. He's very weak."

"Well, well, he's a good age. How old is he?"

"I don't know. He never told me."

"He's well on to seventy, I'm thinking. But what can I do for you?"

"You may fill this bottle, Joe; Uncle Peter is so weak he thinks it
will put new life in him."

"So it will, Ernest; there's nothing like good whisky to make an old
man strong, or a young man, for that matter."

It may be easy to see that Joe did not believe in total abstinence.

"I don't drink, myself!" said Ernest, replying to the last part of
Joe's remark.

"There's nothing like whisky," remarked the tramp in a hoarse voice.

"You've drunk your share, I'm thinking," said Luke Robbins, the tall
hunter.

"Not yet," returned the tramp. "I haven't had my share yet. There's
lots of people that has drunk more'n me."

"Why haven't you drunk your share? You hadn't no objections, I reckon."

"I hadn't the money," said the tramp, sadly. "I've never had much
money. I ain't lucky."

"If you had had more money, you'd maybe not be living now. You'd have
drunk yourself to death."

"If I ever do commit suicide, that's the way I'd like to die," said
the tramp.

Joe filled the bottle from a keg behind the counter and handed it to
Ernest. The aroma of the whisky was diffused about the store, and the
tramp sniffed it in eagerly. It stimulated his desire to indulge his
craving for drink. As Ernest, with the bottle in his hand, prepared to
leave, the tramp addressed him.

"Say, young feller, ain't you goin' to shout?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ain't you goin' to treat me and this gentleman?" indicating Luke
Robbins.

"No," answered Ernest, shortly. "I don't buy it as drink, but as
medicine."

"I need medicine," urged the tramp, with a smile.

"I don't," said the hunter. "Don't you bother about us, my boy. If we
want whisky we can buy it ourselves."

"I can't," whined the tramp. "If I had as much money as you,"--for he
had noticed that Ernest had changed a gold piece--"I'd be happy, but
I'm out of luck."

Ernest paid no attention to his words, but left the store, and struck
the path homeward.

"Who's that boy?" aske