“I’ll try to,” Monty assured him. “Harold’s a perfectly good name, though. Guess I like it even better than Alvin.”
“I don’t care whether you do or not. It isn’t my name.” Alvin put down the witch hazel bottle with a frown. “That stuff cost me sixty cents,” he announced, meaningly.
“Sixty cents, eh? It’s fairly expensive, isn’t it? Guess I must have used about forty cents worth then.”
“I guess you did. You can get this bottle filled again at Thayers, in the village. Maybe they won’t charge more than fifty if you have the bottle.”
“Sounds fair,” said Monty. “Maybe they won’t. We’ll hope so, eh?”
“If you like, I’ll pour what’s in here into my tooth-mug, and you can get it filled tomorrow. I don’t like to be without witch hazel. It’s fine stuff for cuts and bruises and——”
“Also good on bread,” suggested Monty cheerfully. “For a cough or a cold there’s nothing like it. A prize goes with every package. The finest of these is a pearl-handled pocket-knife. Step up, gentlemen, and have your money ready!”
Alvin viewed him disgustedly. “Cut out the comedy, Crail,” he said, sourly. “Want this bottle now?”
“No, I think not. Maybe I’ll use a little more of it in the morning, since you say it’s good. You needn’t hurry about getting more, though, because I guess I won’t need it.”
“Me? I’m not going to get more! You are, aren’t you?”