half, then he asked the price.

"Price?" repeated the woman, indignantly. "I reckon you don't know
which side of the Ohio River you're on!"

Sandy made up in gratitude what she declined in cash, and started on
his way. At the corner of Main street and the bridge he found Ricks,
who had rented a stand and was already arranging his wares. Sandy
knelt on the sidewalk and unpacked his basket.

"Only three bars of soap and seventy-five microscopes!" he exclaimed
ruefully. "Let's be layin' fine stress on the microscopes, Ricks."

"You do the jawin', Sandy. I ain't much on givin' 'em the talk," said
Ricks. "Chuck a jolly at 'em and keep 'em hangin' round."

As dark came on, trade began. The three bars of soap were sold, and a
purple necktie. Sandy saw that public taste must be guided in the
proper direction. He stepped up on a box and began eloquently to
enumerate the diverse uses of microscopes.

At each end of the stand a flaring torch lighted up the scene. The
light fell on the careless, laughing faces in front, on Ricks Wilson,
black-browed and suspicious, in the rear, and it fell full on Sandy,
who stood on high and harangued the crowd. It fell on his broad,
straight shoulders and on his shining tumbled hair; but it was not
the light of the torch that gave the brightness to his eyes and the
flush to his cheek. His head was throbbing, but he felt a curious
sense of elation. He felt that he could stand there and talk the rest
of his life. He made the crowd listen, he made it laugh, he made it