Jack, struggling with a bundle of confectionery on the counter, grunted assent. Joe, finally closing the showcase, pulled out a dozen or so magazines from underneath and arranged them on the counter. Then came the candy, most of it in half-pound boxes, and a varied assortment of gum and enticing confections put up in tiny tin boxes. There was some discussion as to where these things should be placed. In the end some were put on top the showcase and the rest ranged between the magazines and the wall. The space at the other side of the case was reserved for newspapers and a few minutes later the fifty copies of the _Recorder_ arrived, were paid for, and spread on the counter. With them were a half-dozen copies of morning papers from Cleveland, Columbus, Springfield, Sandusky, Cincinnati, and Dayton. At last everything was in place and the boys emerged into the corridor to view the result. It certainly looked attractive and business-like, and they were hugely pleased. Joe rearranged the boxes of candy so that the colored tops would show better and then Jack went back behind the counter and between them they distributed the price cards. These were small squares or oblongs of gray cardboard with black lettering and had been done by the man who performed such work for Strobe and Wonson. A number of small, weighted holders had been purchased――an extravagance that Joe had resisted at first――and the cards were slipped between the wire loops. Jack again emerged to view the effect. “Looks swell, doesn’t it?” he asked. Joe agreed that it did, and one of the elevator boys, who had been an interested observer at intervals, now stepped from his car and joined them. He was a tall, raw-boned youth of seventeen or eighteen, by name Martin Olson, but generally known as Ole. Ole had a shock of carroty red hair and an unattractive flat face liberally sprinkled with large freckles that matched his hair. Neither Joe nor Jack had taken to Ole much, but his praise of the news-stand now inclined them more favourably toward him. “Best looking little shop in town,” he announced enthusiastically. “That’s a swell glass case you’ve got there, too.” He examined the contents. “You ought to have some Dobbins, though. Dobbins are the best five-cent smoke there is. What kind of cigarettes have you got? Uh-huh, I see. There’s lots of fellows in the building smokes Scimitars, though. You’d ought to lay in some of those, I guess.”