Soon the two observers became interested in a band of sooty-faced chimney sweeps decorated with ribbands and gilt paper. They were making musical sounds with their brushes and scrapers and soliciting gifts from the passing crowd and, now and then, scrambling for tossed coins. In the Ave Mary Lane they saw a procession of milk men and maids carrying wreaths of flowers on wheelbarrows, the first of which held a large white pyramid which seemed to be a symbol of their calling. They were also begging. "It's a lickpenny place," said Jack. "Somebody's got to do some 'arnin' to pay fer all the foolin' eround," Solomon answered. "If I was to stay here I'd git myself ragged up like these 'ere savages and jine the tribe er else I'd lose the use o' my legs an' spend all my money bein' toted. I ain't used to settin' down when I move, you hear to me." "I'll take you to Doctor Franklin's tailor," Jack proposed. "Major Washington tol' me whar to go. I got the name an' the street all writ down plain in my wallet but I got t' go hum." They had stopped at the door of the famous American. Jack and Solomon went in and sat down with a dozen others to await their turn. When they had been conducted to the presence of the great man he took Solomon's hand and said: "Mr. Binkus, I am glad to bid you welcome." He looked down at the sinewy, big-boned, right hand of the scout, still holding it. "Will you step over to the window a moment and give me a look at your hands?" he asked. They went to the window and the Doctor put on his spectacles and examined them closely. "I have never seen such an able, Samsonian fist," he went on. "I think the look of those hands would let you into Paradise. What a record of human service is writ upon them! Hands like that have laid the foundations of America. They have been generous hands. They tell me all I need to know of your spirit, your lungs, your heart and your stomach." "They're purty heavy--that's why I genially carry 'em in my pockets when I ain't busy," said Solomon. "Over here a pair of hands like that are thought to be a disgrace. They are like the bloody hands of Macbeth. Certain people would look at them and say: 'My God, man, you are guilty of hard work. You have produced food for the hungry and fuel for the cold. You are not an idler. You have refused to waste your time with Vice and Folly. Avaunt and quit my sight.' In America every one works--even the horse, the ass and the ox. Only the hog is a gentleman. There are many mischievous opinions in Europe but the worst is that useful labor is dishonorable. Do you like London?" Solomon put his face in shape for a long shot. Jack has written that he seemed to be looking for hostile "Injuns" some distance away and to be waiting for another stir in the bushes. Suddenly he pulled his trigger.