eased expression and
hung over the counter where the rings, watches and bracelets glittered.
Then he examined a string of sponges carefully--sponges always
interested him--they suggested picturesque scenery and adventures. He
lingered over the toilet articles, sniffing the soaps and smelling at
the bottles of perfume, trying those whose names he especially fancied
on the end of his nose by rubbing it with the glass stopper. Then he sat
down on the other side of the stove from the stranger and spelled out
the queer names on the jars of drugs, speculating as to their contents
and uses. He never yet had exhausted the possibilities of a drug store
as a means of entertainment.

A few minutes after ten the advance guard came from the Opera
House--laughing. The World's Greatest Prestidigitator had dropped the
egg which he intended taking from the ear of Governor Sudds where it had
broken into the ample lap of Mrs. Vernon Wentz of the White Hand
Laundry. The cold, however, promptly put a quietus upon their merriment
and they scuttled past, bent on getting out of it as quickly as
possible.

There were two customers for cigars, and the Toomeys. Toomey bought
chocolates while Mrs. Toomey held her hands to the stove and shivered.

"Come on, Dell." Toomey's glance as he took the candy included the
stranger.

"How're you?" he nodded carelessly.

They were to be the last, apparently, for when their footsteps died away
the street again grew silent.

The clerk planted his feet on the nickel railing and stared at the stove
gloomily.

"I'd have to keep this store open till half-past 'leven if I was dyin',"
he grumbled.

"But you ain't," said Bowers, cheerfully.

Bowers smelled strongly of sheep, once the heat warmed his clothing. On
the other side of the clerk the odor of smoke and bear grease emanated
from the stranger. The clerk moved his chair back from the stove and
advised the latter:

"Your soles is fryin'."

He seemed not to hear him, for his eyes were upon the clock creeping
close to eleven, and he watched the swaying pendulum as though it
fascinated him. There was no conversation, and each sat thinking his own
thoughts until the stranger suddenly pulled down the side of his collar
and listened. The clerk eyed him with disfavor. The squeaking of
footsteps in the dry snow was heard distinctly. The stranger got up
leisurely and went out with a grunt that was intended for "good
evening."

"Sociable cuss," Bowers com