that
picture o' that dago, or whoever he is, discoverin' the Mississippi on
the back wall.

"And now you"--Malone turned leisurely to a stocky-looking young fellow
in seedy clothes standing wistfully off to one side--"you go on and pass
the word to 'em as they come out o' the quarries."

"All right," answered the stocky one in a hoarse voice, but without
moving.

A meagre-looking man stood behind the cigar-case.

"Will you let me have," said Tim to him, "three good cigars?"

The man behind the cigar-case looked slyly at Malone.

"How good?" he asked.

"Oh, pretty fair--three for a dollar or so."

"Three for a--I got nothing like that here. Fifteen cents straight's the
best I got."

"All right; they'll do."

The boss had not been smoking when Tim entered; but now he turned to
look better at Tim, and he pulled a cigar from his vest-pocket, bit off
the end, scratched a match, and leisurely lit it--all without taking his
eyes off Tim.

Tim also leisurely bit the end off a cigar. The proprietor pushed three
or four matches across the case. Tim, ignoring them, stepped close to
the boss.

"Would you let me have a light?" he inquired politely.

"H-ff! h-ff!" The boss swallowed quite a little smoke, but recovered and
passed over his cigar. Tim took his light from it, said "Thanks!"
briefly, and--puff-puff--contemplated the boss's stout henchman in the
rusty clothes, who was still standing irresolutely at one side.

"Smoke?" inquired Tim suddenly, and thrust a cigar at him.

"Wh-h--" stuttered the henchman, and then almost snatched it from Tim's
hand.

"You gettin' hard o' hearin'? Thought I told you to get along!" snapped
Malone.

"I am goin' along," returned the husky voice, "soon's I light up." In
the curling of the smoke from the corner of his mouth, in the whoofing
of it toward the ceiling, in the squaring of the thick shoulders as he
passed out--there was a hint of rebellion.

"You may be the boss," thought Tim, "but your grip isn't too sure." And
turning squarely on Malone he observed genially: "Fine day."

"H-p-p--" Malone stared fixedly at Tim. Tim stared back. Tim was rapidly
developing a feeling of respect for the man. Tim knew the kind. A few
years back he had been such an uncompromising one himself, who would
have whipped off his coat, as no doubt Malone would now, and battled on
the spot in preference to verbal argument.

"It is a fine day," responded Malone slowly; "but accordin' to my do