“We’ll find out pretty quick what’s wanted,” replied Joe. “What we should have, though, is a lighter. Guess we’d better have some matches on the showcase until we can get a lighter. You tend shop, Jack, and I’ll go and get some.” When he returned from a trip around the corner to the nearest grocery Ole had departed, but the second elevator attendant had taken his place. He was a younger lad, short and stocky and red-cheeked, with a wealth of assurance and a fine command of slang. His name was Walter. There was probably more to it, but the boys never learned it. Walter was equally complimentary. “Some stand, kiddoes, believe me,” he affirmed. “All to the cheese. Say, what kind o’ cigs do you handle? Got any Moorish Beauties?” “No, we haven’t,” said Jack. “You ought to, then. They’re the best. Lots o’ fellers smokes Beauties.” “We’ve got six sorts there,” laughed Joe, “and it seems we haven’t the right ones yet. Ole says we ought to keep Scimitars.” Walter sniffed. “Huh, they ain’t no good. Punk! Beauties is the brand for you. Got any novels?” “Novels? No. Just magazines.” “I mean nickel novels. ‘Dick Dashaway’ and ‘Bull’s-Eye Bob’ and them. Ain’t you goin’ to have none o’ them?” “I think not,” replied Joe drily. “You see, if we kept them we might not attend to business we’d be so busy reading them.” The irony was lost on Walter, however. “That’s so. They’re swell novels, take it from me. There’s one of ’em――Oh, gee, there’s a guy wants to be dropped!” And Walter disgustedly returned to his car, slammed the door and shot upward. “What time is it?” asked Jack. “My watch has stopped.” “Nearly half-past four,” replied Joe. “I wonder who will be our first customer.” “Maybe there won’t be one! Say, we’ve forgotten the money box.” “I know. But we don’t need to put that out except when we’re not here. We――we might see how it looks, though.” Joe went behind, produced a japanned tin box with a slot in the lid and a small brass padlock on the hasp and set it on the showcase. On the front of the box was printed in white letters: “Help yourself and drop the money here.” “How does it look?” he asked. “All right. But, say, Joey, wouldn’t it be a joke if someone absent-mindedly walked off with the box some day?” “The funniest kind of a joke!” “How would it do to chain it?” continued Jack. “Well, it would look a bit funny, wouldn’t it, to trust folks as to put their money in the box and then chain the box down?” “I don’t see――――” began Jack. But just then an elevator descended, the door opened, and out walked Mr. Adams. “Ready for business, eh, boys? Well, you look very nice, very nice, indeed. Hm; cigars, cigarettes, magazines, candy――quite a stock of goods. Got any Vista de Isla cigars? I see you haven’t, though. It might pay you to keep a box, boys. I run out of them now and then and I might as well get them from you as send around to the club for them. Well, I’ll take a _Recorder_, I guess. Have to patronise home industries, you know.”