Corkey looks at the prescription booth. He notes the blue copper water
at each corner. His eyes rise to the white partition which separates
the rear room from the store.

"Sleep in there?"

"Yes," says the druggist, huskily.

"Get out of here!" cries Corkey to the last of the merry throng. "I
used to play just that same way right here in this street. Cozy place
in there. Well, I ain't so smart, but I've had a scheme on ever since
I found that yawl. She's crying her eyes out over there--you can't
tell me, for I know. Mebbe his nobs would like to come back. I'm
going to sound her, and if she's favorable I'm going to advertise--see?"

"Do you see her often?"

"Yes, oftener than I want to. You see she makes me go over that last
night on the old tub and on the yawl. Now I'm getting tired of telling
how he died. He ain't dead. But she seems to harp on that. You just
ought to hear her cap him up. He's the greatest and goodest man you
ever see. Well, now. I'm going to change the play a little. Oh,
she's no use. She even wants me to bring the coon, and I let the
ball-players take him. He can't be going down there. I don't want him
along nohow. I tell you I'm going to change the box. I'm going to
bring her round to the idea that he's alive."

Corkey is earnest. His eyes are sparkling. He is chewing hard on his
tobacco. His head is quaking.