ght around the corner behind the post-office. I
put the thing there without his consent, intending to move it right
away. I can't get away from here right at this minute, but if you'll
step in and ask him if he will consent to let the cage rest on his land
awhile I'll have a carpenter take the cage part off and you may have the
wagon at the same low figure as the others."

It was one of Henley's best dodges--this raising of apparent obstacles
between a customer and his own munificent proposals in the customer's
behalf. He had learned early in life that nothing so completely clinched
a trade as making a party to it work to bring it about. The man's eyes
twinkled as he consented. He hastened out and returned in a moment to
say that the shoemaker, with whom he had left an order for a pair of
boots, was perfectly willing for his neighbor to use the lot as long as
he liked, as he had given up all hope of ever being able to build a shop
on it, as had been his plans when he bought the property.

"Well, then, you can draw your check for the whole amount," said Henley,
in the same uneventful tone that always preceded his reception of money.
"I'll let the cage set on the edge of the sidewalk. Maybe I can induce
the town council to use it as a calaboose. The one they've got ain't
strong enough by half."

The report of the four-wheeled transfer went over the village before
nightfall, and the next morning, for the first time, Fred Dill looked in
on Henley without a smile or a joke. He eyed the storekeeper, as he
stood behind the show-case smoking a cigar, with a new and wondering
respect. Fred was beginning to see largely manifested in Henley the very
qualities which were wofully missing from his own merry and shiftless
make-up. He counted on his mental digits the remaining items of the
defunct circus--the tent, the clown's pony and cart, and the lion's den
standing open-doored like a wheelless furniture-van across the street.
And even while Dill stood there, telepathically apologetic for his past
bantering in the presence of so much incarnate shrewdness and foresight,
little Sammy Malthorn, the twelve-year-old son of the wealthiest planter
in the village, came in, as he had been doing several times a day for a
week past. His voice quivered with youthful triumph as he looked eagerly
across the show-case at the smoker.

"Well," he announced, "papa says I may have 'em. You can charge it on
his account. It was twenty-five dollars, y