between the counters of the emporium he went with
his fair burden and left her outside its portals, staring from her very
definitely lashed eyes across the slumbering street at the Simsbury post
office. She was tastefully arrayed in one of those new checked gingham
house frocks so heatedly mentioned a moment since by her lawful owner,
and across her chest Merton Gill now imposed, with no tenderness of
manner, the appealing legend, "Our Latest for Milady; only $6.98."
He returned for Snake le Vasquez. That outlaw's face, even out of the
picture, was evil. He had been picked for the part because of this
face--plump, pinkly tinted cheeks, lustrous, curling hair of some
repellent composition, eyes with a hard glitter, each lash distinct in
blue-black lines, and a small, tip-curled black mustache that lent the
whole an offensive smirk. Garbed now in a raincoat, he, too, was posed
before the emporium front, labelled "Rainproof or You Get Back Your
Money." So frankly evil was his mien that Merton Gill, pausing to regard
him, suffered a brief relapse into artistry.

"You fiend!" he muttered, and contemptuously smote the cynical face with
an open hand.

Snake le Vasquez remained indifferent to the affront, smirking
insufferably across the slumbering street at the wooden Indian
proffering cigars before the establishment of Selby Brothers,
Confectionery and Tobaccos.

Within the emporium the proprietor now purveyed hooks and eyes to an
impatient Mrs. Leffingwell. Merton Gill, behind the opposite counter,
waited upon a little girl sent for two and a quarter yards of stuff to
match the sample crumpled in her damp hand. Over the suave amenities of
this merchandising Amos Gashwiler glared suspiciously across the store
at his employee. Their relations were still strained. Merton also glared
at Amos, but discreetly, at moments when the other's back was turned or
when he was blandly wishing to know of Mrs. Leffingwell if there would
be something else to-day. Other customers entered. Trade was on.

Both Merton and Amos wore airs of cheerful briskness that deceived the
public. No one could have thought that Amos was fearing his undoubtedly
crazed clerk might become uncontrollable at any moment, or that the
clerk was mentally parting from Amos forever in a scene of tense
dramatic value in which his few dignified but scathing words would burn
themselves unforgettably into the old man's brain. Merton, to himself,
had often told Amos these