"I shall sell as little liquor as possible," the druggist says, conceiving the drift of Corkey's ideas.

"Pardner, you must have been a hard drinker yourself. How did your voice get so husky?"

"It was so always."

"It was so the first day I met you. Remember the dedication?"

"Yes; do you remember the bank?"

"Yep. Don't you know I tell you I was going to find that yawl?"

"I do."

"Well, I find it."

Does David Lockwin color? Or are those features forever crimson?

"You do look like a man as has been a red-hot sport in his day. Ever do anything in the ring? Let me try that red liquor of yours. Let's see if it tears. Oh, yes, about the yawl. I just go to the widow the other day and ask her for three hundred cases on the search. Well, she give me the three hundred and want me to take more, and I go right to Collingwood. The duck he show me the boat, and you bet your sweet life I hid her where she never will be seen. What's the use of tearing up the widow's feelings again?"

"You did right!" says the husky voice, the lover all the time wishing the discovery had been published. He feels like a claimant. He is not sure the world would believe David Lockwin to be alive if he could prove it.

"Chalmers, I'm going to tell you something that I haven't said to n.o.body. I hid that boat, and I threw away big money--I know I did.

But I could get all the money I wanted of her--a free graft. Give me another slug of that budge."

The druggist is filling a small graduate with whisky for Corkey. What is Corkey about to say?

"They're having high old times in Russia. That was a great bomb they git in on his n.o.bs last winter."

"The czar? Yes."

"I reckon they're going to git the feller they've got on top there now, too, don't you? They say he put on ten crowns yesterday. What do they call it? The coronation, yes. What's the name of the place? Moscow, yes."

The druggist is less confused.

"Wouldn't it be funny if the czar wasn't dead. But say, pardner, what would you say if I went over there and told my widow I didn't believe her old man was dead at all? Would she give me the gaff? Would she git mad?"

The druggist is busy finding a cork for a bottle. At last he comes to the light to try the cork. He is behind a show-case. Corkey is in front of the, case holding a newspaper in hand, out of which he has been reading of the coronation. His black eyes seem to pierce David Lockwin's face. David Lockwin looks back--in hope, if any feeling can show itself in that veiled countenance.

"He ain't dead! Not much! Can't tell me! I don't bury boats for nothing. I tell you I think a heap of her, and she slung herself so on that hospital and on that other thing there, out north, that I'd hate to give her away. What was that yawl buried for? n.o.body see it and it was worth money, too. What was it buried for? Now I never tell you the story of the night on the old tub. He sit just so."

Corkey takes a seat behind the stove and imitates David Lockwin.

The druggist gazes as in a stupor. He steps to his little room and removes the chair. He must not sit and cogitate.

"Something ail him. I guess he was crazy."

"He must have been," says the druggist, "if he wasn't killed."

"Oh, he wasn't killed. Can't tell me. Now, suppose he want to come back to Chicago--ain't he in a sweet box? And his wife over there crying her eyes out--with more money--with more money--well--"

Corkey's head vibrates, his tongue whirs, he sneezes. Children, romping on the sidewalk, troop to the door of the druggist to learn what has happened.

Corkey looks at the prescription booth. He notes the blue copper water at each corner. His eyes rise to the white part.i.tion which separates the rear room from the store.

"Sleep in there?"

"Yes," says the druggist, huskily.

"Get out of here!" cries Corkey to the last of the merry throng. "I used to play just that same way right here in this street. Cozy place in there. Well, I ain't so smart, but I've had a scheme on ever since I found that yawl. She's crying her eyes out over there--you can't tell me, for I know. Mebbe his n.o.bs would like to come back. I'm going to sound her, and if she's favorable I'm going to advertise--see?"

"Do you see her often?"

"Yes, oftener than I want to. You see she makes me go over that last night on the old tub and on the yawl. Now I'm getting tired of telling how he died. He ain't dead. But she seems to harp on that. You just ought to hear her cap him up. He's the greatest and goodest man you ever see. Well, now. I'm going to change the play a little. Oh, she's no use. She even wants me to bring the c.o.o.n, and I let the ball-players take him. He can't be going down there. I don't want him along nohow. I tell you I'm going to change the box. I'm going to bring her round to the idea that he's alive."

Corkey is earnest. His eyes are sparkling. He is chewing hard on his tobacco. His head is quaking.

"He's alive, and so he's a--well, he's a no-gooder."

"Yes," says the druggist huskily.

"But I hate to see her pining away, and I'm going to steer her against the idea that she can get him if she wants him. She's so rich she can do anything she wants to. I guess if she wants him she can clear out with him and live in--where is it?--in Moscow. That's about the place for ducks like him."

"Yes," says the druggist.

Corkey takes the gla.s.s graduate in hand. He turns sideways and puts his arm heavily on the frail show-case. He lifts his foot to place it on the customary iron railing of a whisky shop. He ruminates.

"The David Lockwin Annex--that means a wing, doesn't it? Yes, I thought so. Well, the wing is bigger than the--than the--than the--the wing is bigger than the bird."

It is an observation that Corkey believes would be applauded among the sharp blades of the telegraph room. He drinks in a well-pleased mood.

"The David Lockwin Annex! The monument! They've given that a stiff name, too. I've seen some gay things in this town, but that beats me.

It takes a woman to make a fool of herself. And there she is over there crying for her great hero. Fill this jim-crack with the budge again. Let her draw as much water as she will--put it to the top notch!"

The druggist trembles as he fills the graduate.

"Won't you have a bigger one?" he suggests.

"No, I ain't drinking much between campaigns. Did you know I was going to run for the Illinois house? Yes, that's nearer to my size than a whole congressional district. I'm in for it. But that's not now. My mind is over there, on the avenue. Say, old man, is the scheme any good? He da.s.sen't come back. Do you think she'd pull out and go to him, wherever he is?"

The druggist carries the empty graduate to the water sink. He rinses it. His heart beats with the greatest joy it has ever known. He returns the graduate to the prescription counter.

"It is a good scheme, Corkey."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "It is a good scheme, Corkey."]

"You bet it _is_. Chalmers, just fill that thimble-rig once more. It don't hold three fingers, nohow. Hurry, for I got to go to the north pier right off. That's your little clock striking 6 in there now, ain't it?"