considerable public interest. At the Lone Star Emporium the little freak
looked wildly about him until his eyes fell on the bottle shelves. Then
he rushed right in behind the counter and began to paw them over. I
headed off Sol Levi, who was coming front making war medicine.

"_Loco_," says I to him. "If there's any damage, I'll settle."

It looked like there was going to be damage all right, the way he
snatched up one bottle after the other, read the labels, and thrust
them one side. At last he uttered a crow of delight, just like a kid.

"How many you got of these?" he demanded, holding up a bottle of
soothing syrup.

"You only take a tablespoon of that stuff----" began Sol.

"How many you got--how much are they?" interrupted the stranger.

"Six--three dollars a bottle," says Sol, boosting the price.

The little man peeled a twenty off a roll of bills and threw it down.

"Keep the other five bottles for me!" he cried in a shaky voice, and ran
out, with me after him, forgetting his change and to shut the door
behind us.

Back through McGrue's bar we trailed like one of these moving-picture
chases and into the back room.

"Well, here we are home again," said I.