Hustler Joe had never forgotten the little hunchback pedler, nor the debt of gratitude he owed him. Many a time in the old days at the coal mines he had tried to pay this debt, but always, in his own estimation, he had failed. So it was of Pedler Jim that he first thought when this new power of wealth came into his hands. The news of Hustler Joe’s good luck had not reached Skinner Valley, and the man was in the same rough miner’s garb when he pushed open the familiar door of the “Emporium” in search of Pedler Jim. “Well, if it ain’t Hustler Joe!” exclaimed the hunchback delightedly. “You’re a sight good fur sore eyes. Come back ter stay?” “Well, awhile, maybe. How’s the world using you these days, Jim?” “Oh, fair—fair; ’tain’t quite ’s good as I’d like—but I ain’t complainin’.” “I wonder if anything would make you complain—I never heard you,” remarked Joe, helping himself to a seat on the counter. “Well, now that ye mention it, mebbe I don’t much—I hain’t no need to. My appetite’s good an’ my conscience is clear; an’ a clear conscience is——” “Jim,” interrupted the miner sharply, “did you ever hear of Aladdin and his lamp?” “Huh? Oh, the feller that rubbed it an’ got what he wanted?” “That’s the chap.” “Well—s’posin’ I have?” “Oh, I only wondered what you’d ask for if you had one to rub.” “Gorry—I wish’t I had!” “Well, what would you?” persisted Joe, his face alight. “What would I? Well, I’ll tell ye. I’d buy the big house on the hill——” “What—Barrington’s?” interrupted Joe. “Gee whiz, no! I mean the empty one that Rotalick lived in; an’ I’d make it over into a hospital, an’ I’d add to it as I was able.” “A hospital? Why, there is one.” “Yes, I know—the company’s; but the boys always have ter quit there long ’fore they’re able. They can’t work, an’ if they laze ’round home it takes furever to git well—what with the noise an’ the children an’ all. They crawl down here to the store, an’ my heart jest aches fur ’em, they’re so peaked-lookin’. I’d have it all fixed up with trees an’ posies an’ places ter set, ye know, where they could take some comfort while they was gittin’ well.” A moisture came into Joe’s eyes. “But how about yourself?” he asked. “You haven’t rubbed out anything for yourself, Jim.” “Fur me? Gorry—if I jest had that lamp, you’d see me rubbin’ out somethin’ fur me, all right. I’ve been wantin’ ter send home a box ter the old folks—’way back in Maine, ye know. Jiminy Christmas, man, there’d be no end ter the black silk dresses and gold-headed canes an’ fixin’s an’ fur-belows that I’d rub out an’ send to ’em!” Hustler Joe laughed; then something came into his throat and choked the laugh back. “But all this isn’t for you, Jim,” he remonstrated. “Huh? Not fur me? Fur heaven’s sake, man, who is it fur, then?” The miner laughed again and slid off the counter. “You’ve got quite a store, Jim. Ever wish you had more room?” he asked abruptly. Pedler Jim not only nibbled at the bait, but swallowed it.