When the waiter deals out the check Ikey is the busiest talker in the bunch.
Whenever he passes a bank he takes off his hat and walks on his toes.
He's the sort of a Sim Dempsey who sheds in-growing tears every time anybody spends money in his neighborhood.
He hates to see it wasted, and that's why his whiskers peep out of his face and worry the wind.
But, then, a Good Fellow doesn't have to go to sea to gather barnacles.
I spoke his name fast when I introduced Ikey to Clara Jane but she was busy trying to live a swift life by ordering a seltzer lemonade, so it didn't make much difference, anyway.
"What is he?" she whispered after a bit, "a painter?"
"Oh! he's a painter all right," I said. "When some one leads him up to a tub."
"Water-colors or oil?" she asked.
"Oil," I said; "Fusel oil."