ity of winning two or three dollars.
This was annoying, because Drummond needed the money, but he had other
grounds for feeling dissatisfied.

Keeping store was monotonous and rather humiliating work that left one
very little time for amusement. He could drive a fast horse as well as
other young men he met up town, play a clever card game, and beat his
friends at pool. His talents were obviously wasted in measuring
dry-goods and weighing flour. Moreover, since meeting Stormont he had
been extravagant and got into debt. There was no need to be economical
when he had been promised a share in a rich mining claim.

Then he wondered with misgivings what the farmer who had gone into the
back office was talking about, and hearing angry voices, felt sorry he
had made some alterations in the man's order. Certain stale goods
carried a commission if the salesman could work them off, but the thing
needed tact and a knowledge of the customer's temper. Drummond feared he
had been imprudent.

In the meantime, he looked about the store with a feeling of disgust.
The long room, with its cracked, board walls and dusty floor, was
uncomfortably warm, and smelt of hot iron, dry-goods, and old cheese.
Drummond had neglected to regulate the draught when he filled the rusty
stove, and now felt that one could not expect a spirited young man to
spend his days in such a place. Anyhow, it was after closing time, and
sitting on the counter he lighted a cigarette, letting it stick to his
under lip. This was the latest fashion and gave one a sporting look.
Soon after he began to smoke, the farmer came out of the office.

"You can send for the truck when you like; I've no use for goods like
that," he said. "Next time you pack me a dud lot I'll cut out your
account. If you and the sporting guy who's sitting on your counter
thought me a sucker, I guess I've put you wise!"

He went down the steps into the street, and the lean, hard-faced
storekeeper turned to Drummond with an ominous frown.

"Get off that counter! You make me tired to look at you, with your dude
clothes and a cigar-root hanging out of your mouth. Throw the blamed
thing away and put up the canned stuff you left about."

Drummond felt tempted to refuse, but his employer's eye was on him and
he obeyed sullenly.

"When you've finished, you can clean up that row of shelves," the other
resumed. "Then stack the flour and sugar bags where they're kept. Guess
you reckoned to leave the tr