"I'd lift a cache from a preacher! I'd steal booze off my blind aunt! I'd----" "We'll try some more 'prospects' before we give up. It's many months since I've gone out of town sober and I don't like to establish a precedent. I'm superstitious about things like that," said Wallie. At this unquestionably psychological moment Mr. Tucker beckoned them from his doorway. They responded with such alacrity that their gait approached a trot, although they had no particular reason to believe that it was his intention to offer them a drink. It was merely a hope born of their thirst. Their reputation was such, however, that any one who wished to demonstrate his friendship invariably evidenced it in this way, taking care, in violation of the ethics of bygone days, to do the pouring himself. Mr. Tucker winked elaborately when he invited them in, and Wallie and Pinkey exchanged eloquent looks as they followed him to his Land Office in the rear of the store. Inside, he locked the door and lowered the shade of the single window which looked out on an areaway. No explanation was necessary as he took a hatchet and pried up a plank. This accomplished, he reached under the floor and produced a tin cup and a two-gallon jug. He filled it with a fluid of an unfamiliar shade and passed it to Pinkey, who smelled it and declared that he could drink anything that was wet. Wallie watched him eagerly as it gurgled down his throat. "Well?" Mr. Tucker waited expectantly for the verdict. Pinkey wiped his mouth. "Another like that and I could watch my mother go down for the third time and laugh!" "Where did you get it?" Wallie in turn emptied the cup and passed it back. "S-ss-sh!" Mr. Tucker looked warningly at the door. "I made it myself--brown sugar and raisins. You like it then?" "If I had about 'four fingers' in a wash-tub every half hour---- What would you hold a quart of that at?" Pinkey leaned over the opening in the floor and sniffed. Mr. Tucker hastily replaced the plank and declared: "Oh, I wouldn't dast! I jest keep a little on hand for my particular friends that I can trust. By the way, Mr. Macpherson, what are you goin' to do with that homestead you took up?" "Hold it. Why?" "I thought I might run across a buyer sometime and I wondered what you asked." A hardness came into Wallie's face and Tucker added: "I wasn't goin' to charge you any commission--you've had bad luck and----" "You're the seventh philanthropist that's wanted to sell that place in my behalf for about $400, because he was sorry for me," Wallie interrupted, drily. "You tell Canby that when he makes me a decent offer I'll consider it." "No offence--no offence, I hope?" Tucker protested. "Oh, no." Wallie shrugged his shoulder. "Only don't keep getting me mixed with the chap that took up that homestead. I've had my eyeteeth cut." Extending an invitation to call and quench their thirsts with his raisinade when next they came to town, Tucker unlocked the door.