And the Doc, who's a chesty, short-legged gent with a dome half under
glass,--you know, sort of a skinned diamond with turf outfield
effect,--he whirls on me accusin'. "Young man," says he, "do I
understand that you had the impudence to----"

"Well, well!" breaks in Old Hickory, gettin' a glimpse of what the
porter's unloading "What have we here? Look, Hirshway,--Torchy's drug
substitute!"

"Eh?" says the Doc, starin' puzzled.

"Games," says Mr. Ellins, startin' to paw over the bundles. "Toys for
a weary toiler. Let's inspect his selection. Now what's this in the
box, Torchy?"

"Cut-up picture puzzle," says I. "Two hundred pieces. You fit 'em
together."

"Fine!" says Old Hickory. "And this?"

"Ring toss," says I. "You try to throw them rope rings over the peg."

"I see," says he. "Excellent! That will be very amusing and
instructive. Here's an airgun too."

"Ellins," says Doc Hirshway, "do you mean to say that at your age you
are going to play with such childish things?"

"Why not?" says Old Hickory. "You forbid business. I must employ
myself in some way, and Torchy recommends these."