"Four!" said Stover.
"One and three."
"Three!" said Butsey in feigned surprise. "Oh, come, I didn't eat three—well, I never; what do you think of that?"
Dink rubbed his ear thoughtfully, looked hard at Butsey and paid. Laloo followed them to the door, leaned against the jamb and gazed down the road.
"Now for Bill Appleby's," said Butsey cheerily. "He's rolling—rolling in wealth. We'll go in later for lamps and crockery and all that sort of thing. I thought we might sort of wash down the hot dogs before we go up to the Jigger Shop—eh, what?"
In Appleby's general merchandise store Stover gravely shook hands with a quick, business-like little man with a Western mustache, a Down-East twang and a general air of being on the trigger.
"Well, Bill, how's business?" said Butsey affably, nudging Stover.
"It's bad, boys, it's bad," said Bill mournfully.
"Bad, you old robber," said Butsey; "why, that little iron safe of yours is just cracking open with coin. How's the rootbeer to-day?"
"It's very nice, Mr. White. Just come in this morning."