his eyes was the
vision of a maid's shy loveliness, and he thrilled anew at the memory of
two warm lips. Thus he strode unheeding through the jostling throng at a
speed very different from his ordinary lounging gait. Very soon he came
to a small drug-store, weather-beaten and grimy of exterior but very
bright within, where everything seemed in a perpetual state of glitter,
from the multitudinous array of bottles and glassware upon the shelves
to the taps and knobs of the soda fountain. Yet nowhere was there
anything quite so bright as the shrewd, twinkling eyes of the little
grey-haired man who greeted Ravenslee with a cheery nod.

"Hot enough?" he enquired.

"Quite!" answered Ravenslee.

"Goin' to be hotter."

"Afraid so."

"Rough on th' kiddies, an' ice goin' up. Which reminds me I sent on the
mixture you ordered for little Hazel Bowker."

"Good," nodded Ravenslee.

"And the pills to Mrs. Sims."

"Good again."

"An' the sleeping-draught for old Martin Finlay."

"Good once more."

"Won't last long, old Martin, I guess. Never been the same since little
Maggie drowned herself, poor child. What d'ye want this morning?"

"First to pay for the medicine," said Ravenslee, laying a five-dollar
bill on the counter, "and then the use of your 'phone."

"Right there," said the chemist, nodding toward a certain shady corner,
where, remote from all intruding bustle, was a telephone booth into
which Ravenslee stepped forthwith and where ensued the following
one-sided conversation:

Ravenslee. "Hello!"

Telephone. "Buzz!"

Ravenslee. "Hello, Central, give me Thirty-three Wall, please."

Telephone. "Ting-a-ling--buzz!"

Ravenslee. "Damn this 'phone--what? No, I said Double-three
Wall."

Telephone. "Buzz! Ting! Zut!"

Ravenslee. "Sounded different, did it? Well, I want--"

Telephone. "Buzz! Zut! Ting!"

Ravenslee. "Thanks. Hello, that Thirty-three Wall? Dana and
Anderson's Office? Good! I want to speak with Mr. Anderson--say Mr.
Ravenslee."

Telephone. "Zing!"

Ravenslee. "Thanks. That you, Anderson?"

Telephone. "Pang!"

Ravenslee. "Thanks--very well! What the devil's wrong with this
instrument of torment--can you hear me?"

Telephone. "Crack!"

Ravenslee. "Good! Yes--that's better! Now listen; I want you to
do some business for me. No, I'm buying, not selling. I'm going into
real estate. What, a bad speculation? Well, anyway, I'm buying tenement
property in Tenth Avenue, known as Mulligan's, I