"Whiskey is higher'n used to be," said Elder Brown; but the bartender
was taking another order, and did not hear him. Elder Brown stirred
away the sugar, and let a steady stream of red liquid flow into the
glass. He swallowed the drink as unconcernedly as though his morning
tod had never been suspended, and pocketed the change. "But it ain't
any better than it was," he concluded, as he passed out. He did not
even seem to realize that he had done anything extraordinary.
There was a millinery store up the street, and thither with uncertain
step he wended his way, feeling a little more elate, and altogether
sociable. A pretty, black-eyed girl, struggling to keep down her
mirth, came forward and faced him behind the counter. Elder Brown
lifted his faded hat with the politeness, if not the grace, of a
Castilian, and made a sweeping bow. Again he was in his element. But
he did not speak. A shower of odds and ends, small packages, thread,
needles, and buttons, released from their prison, rattled down about
him.
The girl laughed. She could not help it. And the elder, leaning his
hand on the counter, laughed, too, until several other girls came
half-way to the front.
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