afternoon while I been running my legs about off to sell your papers; and
when the last one is gone, I come and pay you what they sold for; now it's
up to you to do what you promised._"

"_Why didn't you keep it when you had it?_"

"_'Cause that ain't business! I did what I promised fair and square; I was
giving you a chance to be square too._"

"_Oh! Well next time you won't be such a fool!_"

Jimmy turned to step from the gutter to the sidewalk. Two things happened
to him simultaneously: Mickey became a projectile. He smashed with the
force of a wiry fist on the larger boy's head, while above both, an
athletic arm gripped him by the collar.

Douglas Bruce was hurrying to see a client before he should leave his
office; but in passing a florist's window his eye was attracted by a sight
so beautiful he paused an instant, considering. It was spring; the Indians
were coming down to Multiopolis to teach people what the wood Gods had put
into their hearts about flower magic.

The watcher scarcely had realized the exquisite loveliness of a milk-white
birch basket filled with bog moss of silvery green, in which were set
maidenhair and three yellow lady slippers, until beside it was placed
another woven of osiers blood red, moss carpeted and bearing five pink
moccasin flowers, faintly fined with red lavender; between them rosemary
and white ladies' tresses. A flush crept over the lean face of the
Scotsman. He saw a vision. Over those baskets bent a girl, beautiful as
the flowers. Plainly as he visualized the glory of the swamp, Douglas