the room, deposited the licorice water upon the counter of the
drug store, seized in its stead the bottle of smallpox medicine, and
extended it cordially toward the advancing Maurice.

Genius is like that--great, simple, broad strokes!

Dazzled, Mr. Samuel Williams leaned against the wall. He had
the sensations of one who comes suddenly into the presence of a
chef-d'oeuvre. Perhaps his first coherent thought was that almost
universal one on such huge occasions: "Why couldn't _I_ have done that!"

Sam might have been even more dazzled had he guessed that he figured not
altogether as a spectator in the sweeping and magnificent conception of
the new Talleyrand. Sam had no partner for the cotillon. If Maurice
was to be absent from that festivity--as it began to seem he might
be--Penrod needed a male friend to take care of Miss Rennsdale and he
believed he saw his way to compel Mr. Williams to be that male friend.
For this he relied largely upon the prospective conduct of Miss
Rennsdale when he should get the matter before her--he was inclined to
believe she would favour the exchange. As for Talleyrand Penrod himself,
he was going to dance that cotillon with Marjorie Jones!

"You can have all you can drink at one pull, M'rice," said Penrod
kindly.

"You said I could have all I want!" protested Maurice, reaching for the
bottle.

"No, I didn't," returned Penrod quickly, holding it away from the eager
hand.

"He did, too! Didn't he, Sam?"

Sam could not reply; his eyes, fixed upon the bottle, protruded
strangely.

"You heard him--didn't you, Sam?"

"Well, if I did say it I didn't mean it!" said Penrod hastily, quoting
from one of the authorities. "Looky here, M'rice," he continued,
assuming a more placative and reasoning tone, "that wouldn't be fair to
us. I guess we want some of our own lickrish water, don't we? The bottle
ain't much over two-thirds full anyway. What I meant was, you can have
all you can drink at one pull."

"How do you mean?"

"Why, this way: you can gulp all you want, so long as you keep
swallering; but you can't take the bottle out of your mouth and commence
again. Soon's you quit swallering it's Sam's turn."

"No; you can have next, Penrod," said Sam.

"Well, anyway, I mean M'rice has to give the bottle up the minute he
stops swallering."

Craft appeared upon the face of Maurice, like a poster pasted on a wall.

"I can drink so long I don't stop swallering?"

"Yes; that's it."

"A