Out in the kitchen, another company of cooks, confectioners, dishwashers, and porters, kept hard at work; and, during rush hours, they were nearly ready to faint. At the rear, two clerks were kept busy, every moment, checking off the receipts, of boxes and barrels of white and brown [[63]]sugar, sorghum, syrup, liquors, and all sorts of flavoring extracts, besides delicacies imported from Constantinople, Calcutta, Teheran, and Nagasaki.
On the shop front, the plate glass bore the name of “Jean Hilty,” in large gold letters, and below this, one read “The Home of Hilty’s Famous Genuine Swiss Mountain Confectionery and Iceland Moss Paste.”
The highest priced confection was a praline, or compound of nuts and chocolate, which was packed up in a most dainty box, lined with perfumed lace paper, and labeled in gold letters “Made according to the sole receipt ever revealed by the King of the Dwarfs.”
The display, in the big window, of all the delicious things known to the confectioners, and many of them from foreign countries, advertised to be of “private growth,” and “imported in our own fleet of ships” was dazzling.
Most astounding of all, was the tableau over the main entrance. It consisted of a group of carved and gilded figures, in front of a highly tinted background, showing the dwarf at the fire, with the well-spread tables and the dairyman as his guest.
Out on the street, the crowd that stood on the pavement, gazing up to see this pretty picture, in bas-relief, was so great, that the police [[64]]had to make a lane and keep open a passage way, through the press of old and young folks, so that ordinary people could get through.
So, for a half hour or more, inside that shepherd’s brain, a moving picture show went on, as if a five-reel film was being rolled off, and his imagination had spread the screen. The bright colors, in this picture, of the furore for dwarf’s candy exceeded any gallery of paintings known in Paris, or any panorama that could be made on canvas.
In fact the dairyman was so sure of the good time coming, that, with his eyes wide open, he actually rubbed his two hands gleefully, right before the dwarf. The next thing he did, was that he so far forgot his promise, as to be heard in his glee. Instead of holding his tongue in silence, he talked out loud to himself saying, “Am I not a lucky fellow? By Saint Matthew, I am in luck, this time, surely.”
Hearing the strange noise, the King of the dwarfs turned around to look. In one hand was his skillet, and in the other a ladle and a cloth; and with both he was holding a very hot kettle, full of some liquid. In fact, he was just about to pour out the boiling chocolate over a dish of caramels, made after his own recipe.
But seeing the lazy lubber, wide awake, when he was believed to be fast asleep, the dwarf’s [[65]]whole appearance changed. Instead of smiles, in his usually happy manner, his eyes blazed with wrath, like fire. His face wore one long scowl. He danced with rage, and screamed out,