robbery--Now who stole my going-home shoes?... Why, I don't
know whether the train did any robbing or not!"

He slapped Mr. Wrenn on the back, and the sales clerk's heart
bounded in comradeship. He was surprised into declaring:

"Say--uh--I bowed to you the other night and you--well, honestly,
you acted like you never saw me."

"Well, well, now, and that's what happens to me for being the
dad of five kids and a she-girl and a tom-cat. Sure, I couldn't
've seen you. Me, I was probably that busy with fambly cares--I
was probably thinking who was it et the lemon pie on me--was it Pete
or Johnny, or shall I lick 'em both together, or just bite me wife."

Mr. Wrenn knew that the ticket-taker had never, never really
considered biting his wife. _He_ knew! His nod and grin and
"That's the idea!" were urbanely sophisticated. He urged:

"Oh yes, I'm sure you didn't intend to hand me the icy mitt.
Say! I'm thirsty. Come on over to Moje's and I'll buy you a drink."

He was aghast at this abyss of money-spending into which he had
leaped, and the Brass-button Man was suspiciously wondering what
this person wanted of him; but they crossed to the adjacent
saloon, a New York corner saloon, which of course "glittered"
with a large mirror, heaped glasses, and a long shining
foot-rail on which, in bravado, Mr. Wrenn placed his
Cum-Fee-Best shoe.