"What yer got for dinner, Balmy? Bread 'n' treacle?" asked the young ruffian;
then for the edification of his chums he snatched the boy's dinner bag
and emptied its contents on the pavement.

The door opened. Arvie gathered up his lunch, took his time-ticket,
and hurried in.

"Well, Balmy," said one of the smiths as he passed, "what do you think
of the boat race?"

"I think," said the boy, goaded to reply, "that it would be better
if young fellows of this country didn't think so much
about racin' an' fightin'."

The questioner stared blankly for a moment, then laughed suddenly
in the boy's face, and turned away. The rest grinned.

"Arvie's getting balmier than ever," guffawed young Bill.

"Here, Carstor Hoil," cried one of the smiths' strikers,
"how much oil will you take for a chew of terbaccer?"

"Teaspoonful?"

"No, two."

"All right; let's see the chew, first."

"Oh, you'll get it. What yer frighten' of? . . . Come on, chaps,
'n' see Bill drink oil."