Refreshed then by this firm conscientious resolve, he went down York Street, where he was hailed by Hungerford from an upper story, and went in to find a small group sitting in inspection of several bundles of tailoring goods which were being displayed in the center of the room by a little bow-legged Yankee with an open appealing countenance. "I say, Dink, you ought to get in on this," said Hungerford at his entrance. "What's the game?" "Here's a wonderful chance. Little bright-eyes here has got a lot of goods dirt cheap and he's giving us the first chance. You see it's this way: he travels for a firm and the end of the season he gets all the samples for himself, so he can let them go dirt cheap." "Half price," said the salesman nodding. "Half price on everything." "I've bought a bundle," said Troutman. "It's wonderful goods." "How much?" said Stover, considering. "Only twenty dollars for enough to make up a suit. Twenty's right, isn't it, Skenk?" "Twenty for this--twenty-two for that. You remember I said twenty-two." "Let me see the stuff," said Stover, as though he had been the mainstay of custom tailors all his life. Now the crowd was a New York one, a little better groomed than their companions, affecting the same predilections for indiscreet vests and modish styles that would make them appreciative of the supremacy of green in the haberdashery arts. "This is rather good style," he said, with a glance at Troutman's genteel trousers. "What sort of goods do you call it?" "Imported Scotch cheviot," said the salesman in a confidential whisper. Stover looked again at Troutman, who tried discreetly, without being seen by the unsuspecting Yankee, to convey to him in a look the fact that it was a crime to acquire the goods at such a price. Thus tipped off, Dink bought a roll that had in it a distinct reminiscent tinge of green, and saw it carried to the house, for fear the salesman should suddenly repent of the sacrifice. At half past eight that night, as he and Tough McCarthy were painfully excavating a bit of Greek prose for the morrow, McNab came rushing in. "Get out, Dopey, we're boning," said McCarthy, reaching for a tennis racket. "Boys, the greatest bargain you ever heard," said McNab excitedly, "come in before it's too late!" "Bargain?" said Stover, frowning, for the word was beginning to cloy. McNab, with a show of pantomime, squinted behind the window curtains and opened the closet door. "Look here, Dopey, you get out," said Tough, wrathfully, "you're faking." "I'm looking for customs officers," said McNab mysteriously. "What! I say, what's this game?" "Boys, we've got a couple of _Cuba libre_ dagos rounded up and dancing on a string." "For the love of Mike, Dopey, be intelligible." "It's cigars," said McNab at last. "Don't want them!" "But it's smuggled cigars!" "Oh!" "Wonderful, pure Havanas, priceless, out of a museum." "You don't say so."