ching the hot
dogs in rootbeer, heard again the opening salutations:

"Well, Bill, how's business?"

"It's bad, Mr. Parsons. It's bad."

"Well, Bill, ta-ta," said Butsey, as they moved off. "Seen Doc
Macnooder this morning?"

"No, Mr. White, I haven't saw him to-day."

"Always make him answer that," said Butsey chuckling, "and always ask
him about business. We all do. It's e-tiquette. There's Firmin's," he
said, with a wave of his hand--"post-office, country store, boots and
shoes and all that sort of thing. And here's the Jigger Shop!"

Stover had no need of the explanation. Before a one-story,
glass-fronted structure a swarm of boys of all ages, sizes and colors
were clustered on steps and railings, or perched on posts and backs of
chairs, all ravenously attacking the jigger to the hungry clink of the
spoon against the glass. They elbowed their way in through the joyous,
buzzing mass to where by the counter, Al, watchdog of the jigger,
scooped out the fresh strawberry ice cream and gathered in the nickels
that went before. At the moment of their arrival Al was in what might
be termed a defensive formation. One elbow was leaning on the counter,
one hand caressed the heavy, drooping mustache, one ear listened to
the promises of a ravenous, impecunious group, but the long, pointer
nose and the financial eyes were dreamily plunged on the group
without.

"Gee, did you ever see such an eye?" said Butsey, who had reasons of
his own for quailing before it. "It's almost up to the Doctor's. You
can't fool him--not for a minute. Talk about Pierpont Morgan! Why, he
knows the whole blooming lot of us, just what we're worth. Why, that
eye of his could put a hole right through any pocket. Watch him when
he spots me." Pushing forward he exclaimed: "Hello, Al; glad to see
me?"

Al turned slowly, fastening his glance on him with stony intentness.

"Don't bother me, you Butsey," he said shortly.

"Al, I've sort of set my sweet tooth on these here strawberry jiggers
of yours."

The Guardian of the Jigger made a half motion in the air, as though to
brush away an imaginary fly.

"Two nice, creamy, double strawberry jiggers, Al."

Al's eyes drooped wearily.

"My friend, Mr. Vanastorbilt Stover, here's setting up," said Butsey
in conciliating accents.

The eyes opened and fastened on Stover, who advanced saying:

"That goes."

"Ring a couple of dimes down, Astorbilt," said Butsey. "Al's very fond
of music."

"Give m