fellow puts it
into your head. Stand on your own legs." The Doctor rose and extended
his hand cordially. "Of course, I shall have my eye on you."

Stover, dumbfounded, rose as though on springs. The Doctor, noticing
his amazement, said:

"Well, what is it?"

"Please, sir--is that all?"

"That's all," said the Doctor seriously.

Stover drew a long breath, shook hands precipitately and escaped.

IV

The spell was still on him as he stumbled over the resounding steps.
But, twenty feet from the door, the spirit of irreverence overtook
him. Then, at the thought of the waiting Butsey, he began to pipe
forth voluminously the martial strains of Sherman's March to the Sea,
kicking enormous pebbles victoriously before him.

Butsey White, sitting on the doorstep of Laloo's, gazed at him from
the depths of a steaming frankfurter sandwich.

"Well, you look cheerful," he said in surprise.

"Why not?"

"How was he?"

"Gentle as a kitten."

"Come off! Were you scared?"

"Scared! Lord, no! I enjoyed myself."

"You're a cheerful liar, you are. What did he say to you?"

"Hoped I'd enjoy the place and all that sort of thing. And--oh, yes,
he spoke about you."

"He did, did he?" said Butsey, precipitately leaving the frankfurter
sandwich.

"He hoped I'd have a good influence on you," said Stover, whose
imagination had been too long confined.

Butsey rose wrathfully, but the answer he intended could not be made,
for, reckoning on his host, he was already in his third frankfurter,
and there was the Jigger Shop yet to be visited.

"Dink, if you ever have to tell the truth," he said, "it'll kill you.
Come in and meet Mr. Laloo."

Mr. Laloo was leaning gratefully on the counter--as, indeed, he was
always leaning against something--his legs crossed, lazily plying the
afternoon toothpick.

"Laloo, shake hands with my friend, Mr. Stover," said Butsey White
professionally. "Mr. Stover's heard about your hot dogs, way out in
California."

Laloo transferred the toothpick and gave Stover his hand in a tired,
unenthusiastic way.

"Well, now, they do be pretty good hot dogs," he drawled out. "Suppose
you want one?" He looked at Stover in sleepy reproachfulness, and then
slid around the counter in the shortest parabola possible.

"Pick him out a nice, young Pomeranian," said Butsey, peering into the
steaming tin.

Laloo forked a frankfurter, selected a roll and looked expectantly at
Stover.

"What's the mat