“Oh, I shine mine at home,” said Jack cheerfully. “I save a nickel every week or two, you see. When I get a quarter saved up I’m going to get one of those manicures like Frank’s. They’re great! Every time he puts his hand up you get blinded.” “Every time you put your hand up,” chuckled Frank, “I think someone’s dead!” “Now what’s he mean by that?” asked Jack, as the others laughed. “You’d better dry up,” advised Joe amusedly. “Good advice, Faulkner,” Foley commented. “Wash his hands when you get him home. Your own, too.” “I’ll leave it to the crowd if my hands aren’t clean,” exclaimed Jack indignantly, holding them up for inspection. “I washed them only yesterday. Frank, you’re almost insulting. For two cents I’d disarrange your scarf and break your heart!” “Oh, cut it out,” growled Foley. “You’re not smart; you just think you are. I wear whatever clothes I please, and it doesn’t concern you.” “Doesn’t it, though? My word! It concerns me a lot, old chap. Many’s the time I’ve got up in the morning feeling blue and depressed and then seen you glide by in a pink shirt and a green hat and white spats and perked right up, Frank! Why, you’re our little blob of local colour, that’s what you are. We’re all better for you, Frank. Amesville would be pale and commonplace without you. Why, just the other day I walked along a block or two behind you inhaling the aroma that floated back, and life seemed different right away. That was the day everyone was calling up the gas company and complaining of leaks!” This sally brought a burst of laughter that dissipated the final remnant of Foley’s good-temper, and he turned to face Jack with an angry countenance. Unfortunately, he caught the grin on Joe’s features and straightway transferred his attention to that youth. “What are you smirking about, you fresh kid?” he demanded. “You go and sell your five-cent cigars and let me alone. You’re a joke, anyway, and you’re the biggest joke when you try to play ball. You grin at me and I’ll reach back there and wipe it off!” “Cut it out, Frank,” said Tom Pollock from the seat behind Joe’s. “Keep your temper, old man. No one’s hurting you.” “Well, those cheap guys can keep their mouths closed, then. I wasn’t saying anything to them, was I?” “You began it,” retorted Jack mendaciously. “You’re jealous because I told you there was a fellow in town with cloth-top shoes. I only said it for your own good, and――――” “Dry up, Jack,” commanded Tom. “You’re tiresome.” “All right,” grieved Jack. “That’s all the thanks I get for trying to be kind and helpful!” Just then they had to pile out and change to another trolley, and when they were reseated Jack discovered that Foley had placed himself the length of the car away. He sighed. “No more fun,” he murmured. “I shall go to sleep.”