gettin' at the store down home. I tell Ryder--he's our storekeeper and
postmaster--that he must buy his cigars on the reel and cut 'em off with
the scissors. When the gang of us all got a-goin' mail times, it smells
like a rope-walk burnin' down. Ho! ho! It does, for a fact. Yet I kind
of enjoy one of his five-centers, after all. You can get used to most
anything. Maybe it's the home flavor or the society. P'raps they'd taste
better still if they was made of seaweed. I'll trouble you for a match,
Mr. Sylvester. Two of 'em, if you don't mind."

He whittled one match to a point with his pocket knife, impaled the
cigar stump upon it, and relit with the other.

Meanwhile the room had been filling up. Around each of the big windows
overlooking the Avenue were gathered groups of men, young and old,
smoking, chatting, and gazing idly out. Captain Elisha regarded them
curiously.

"This ain't a holiday, is it?" he asked, after a while.

"No. Why?"

"I was just wonderin' if all those fellers hadn't any work to do, that's
all."

"Who? That crowd?" The lawyer laughed. "Oh, they're doing their regular
stunt. You'll find most of them here every afternoon about this time."

"You don't say. Pay 'em wages for it, do you?"

"Not that I know of. Some of them are brokers, who come up after the