nd though at times he considered it
humorously man-about-town to say to a smoking friend, "Well, _I_'ll
tackle one o' your ole coffin-nails," he had never made a purchase
of tobacco in his life. But it struck him now that it would be rather
debonair to disport himself with a package of Little Sweethearts upon
the excursion.

And the name! It thrilled him inexpressibly, bringing a tenderness into
his eyes and a glow into his bosom. He felt that when he should smoke
a Little Sweetheart it would be a tribute to the ineffable visitor for
whom this party was being given--it would bring her closer to him. His
young brow grew almost stern with determination, for he made up his
mind, on the spot, that he would smoke oftener in the future--he would
become a confirmed smoker, and all his life he would smoke My Little
Sweetheart All-Tobacco Cuban Cigarettes.

He entered and managed to make his purchase in a matter-of-fact way, as
if he were doing something quite unemotional; then he said to the clerk:

"Oh, by the by--ah--"

The clerk stared. "Well, what else?"

"I mean," said William, hurriedly, "there's something I wanted to 'tend
to, now I happen to be here. I was on my way to take this overcoat
to--to get something altered at the tailor's for next winter. 'Course
I wouldn't want it till winter, but I thought I might as well get it
DONE." He paused, laughing carelessly, for greater plausibility. "I
thought he'd prob'ly want lots of time on the job--he's a slow worker,
I've noticed--and so I decided I might just as well go ahead and let him
get at it. Well, so I was on my way there, but I just noticed I only
got about six minutes more to get to a mighty important engagement I got
this morning, and I'd like to leave it here and come by and get it on my
way home, this evening."

"Sure," said the clerk. "Hang it on that hook inside the
p'scription-counter. There's one there already, b'longs to your friend,
that young Bullitt fella. He was in here awhile ago and said he wanted
to leave his because he didn't have time to take it to be pressed in
time for next winter. Then he went on and joined that crowd in Mr.
Parcher's yard, around the corner, that's goin' on a trolley-party. I
says, 'I betcher mother maje carry it,' and he says, 'Oh no. Oh no,' he
says. 'Honest, I was goin' to get it pressed!' You can hang yours on the
same nail."

The clerk spoke no more, and went to serve another customer, while
William stared after him