"Down to there!" stipulated Sam, removing his thumb to affix it firmly
as a mark upon the side of the bottle a check upon gormandizing that
remained carefully in place while Penrod drank.

This rite concluded, the visitor's eye fell upon the basket deposited by
Della. He emitted tokens of pleasure.

"Looky! Looky! Looky there! That ain't any good pile o' stuff--oh, no!"

"What for?"

"Drug store!" shouted Sam. "We'll be partners----"

"Or else," Penrod suggested, "I'll run the drug store and you be a
customer----"

"No! Partners!" insisted Sam with such conviction that his host yielded;
and within ten minutes the drug store was doing a heavy business with
imaginary patrons. Improvising counters with boards and boxes, and
setting forth a very druggish-looking stock from the basket, each of the
partners found occupation to his taste--Penrod as salesman and Sam as
prescription clerk.

"Here you are, madam!" said Penrod briskly, offering a vial of Sam's
mixing to an invisible matron. "This will cure your husband in a few
minutes. Here's the camphor, mister. Call again! Fifty cents' worth of
pills? Yes, madam. There you are! Hurry up with that dose for the nigger
lady, Bill!"