Two or three loafers sauntered along and listened to Shea’s enunciation with awed delight. When the end of the list was reached, the amounts totalled, and the money handed over, Thady Shea carelessly crumpled up the list and tossed it behind the counter.
His arms filled with the bundles, he left the store and crossed the street to his car. He had laid up the flivver for the night, and now attended to having it filled with gas and oil. He stated to the mechanic that he might be here for several days; at this juncture, it occurred to him that he had forgotten that axe helve which Mrs. Crump had demanded especially.
Meantime, Ben Aimes had retrieved the list of supplies, and had stared at the uncrumpled paper with amazed recognition. He swiftly summoned one of the idling loafers.
“If this ain’t the writing of Mrs. Crump, I’m a liar! You chase over to the garage and get the number o’ that feller’s car—hump, now!”
Thady Shea reëntered the store, in blissful ignorance that he was done for, and demanded his axe helve. Ben Aimes, in blissful ignorance of what that axe helve was destined to mean to him and to others, filled the order. Then, handling Shea his change, Aimes gave him a meaning wink.
“Step into the sody parlour a minute, stranger! Have a cigar on the store.”
The offer was entirely innocuous. Shea greatly desired to avoid any argument or trouble, so he followed Aimes into the adjoining room, which at this hour was deserted. Aimes procured cigars, then went to the soda fountain.
“Want you to try somethin’ new we got here,” he said, and paused. “What did you say your name was?”
“My cognomen, sir, is Shea. Thaddeus Shea.”
“Well, Shea, just hold this under your nose and see if it smells like sody.”