only the task of delivering a few groceries. He gathered these and
took them out to the wagon in front. Then he changed from his store
coat to his street coat and donned a rakish plush hat.

Amos was also changing from his store coat to his street coat and
donning his frayed straw hat.

"See if you can't keep from actin' crazy while you make them
deliveries," said Amos, not uncordially, as he lighted a choice
cigar from the box which he kept hidden under a counter.

Merton wished to reply: "See here, Mr. Gashwiler, I've stood this
abuse long enough! The time has come to say a few words to you--"
But aloud he merely responded, "Yes, sir!"

The circumstance that he also had a cigar from the same box, hidden
not so well as Amos thought, may have subdued his resentment. He
would light the cigar after the first turn in the road had carried
him beyond the eagle eye of its owner.

The delivery wagon outside was drawn by an elderly horse devoid of
ambition or ideals. His head was sunk in dejection. He was gray at
the temples, and slouched in the shafts in a loafing attitude, one
forefoot negligently crossed in front of the other. He aroused
himself reluctantly and with apparent difficulty when Merton Gill
seized the reins and called in commanding tones, "Get on there, you
old skate!" The equipage moved off under the gaze of Amos, who was
locking the doors of his establishment.

Turning the first corner into a dusty side street, Merton dropped