"Happy to show you anything," I said, smiling.
"Don't need anything in the fur line to-day," said he; "much obliged."
"What fine grapes those are," I commented.
"Um," said he, "they call 'em white muskets of Alexander"; and he grimaced.
"Where are such to be had?" I asked.
"Well," he said, "I got these just round the corner; but you'd have to visit some uptown fruit emporium and pay the price."
"So you bought the last bunch?"
"Bought nothin'," he said, and he smiled in a knowing and leering way.
"They were given to me," he said, "by a married woman. I happened to drop in and she happened to have sent her husband uptown to fetch these grapes for her because she's playing sick and works him in more ways than one—but she said the grapes sickened her conscience, and she made me take 'em away."
"So she has a conscience?" I said.