ed the man.

"'Fore God, that's the only sensible word I ever heard on my side of
the quistion in all me life. And to think that it should come from the
mouth of a man wearing such a Go-to-Hell coat!"

Jimmy shoved the milk pail in front of the stranger. "In the name of
humanity, impty yourself of that," he said. "Fill me pail with the
stuff and let me take it home to Mary. She's always got the bist of the
argumint, but I'm thinkin' that would cork her. You won't?" questioned
Jimmy resentfully. "Kape it to yoursilf, thin, like you did your wine."
He shoved the bucket toward the barkeeper, and emptied his pocket on
the bar. "There, Casey, you be the Sovereign Alchemist, and transmute
that metal into Melwood pretty quick, for I've not wet me whistle in
three days, and the belly of me is filled with burnin' autumn leaves.
Gimme a loving cup, and come on boys, this is on me while it lasts."

The barkeeper swept the coin into the till, picked up the bucket, and
started back toward a beer keg.

"Oh, no you don't!" cried Jimmy. "Come back here and count that 'leaden
metal,' and then be transmutin' it into whiskey straight, the purest
gold you got. You don't drown out a three-days' thirst with beer. You
ought to give me 'most two quarts for that."

The barkeeper was wise. He knew that what Jimmy started would go on
with men who could pay, and he filled the order generously.

Jimmy picked up the pail. He dipped a small glass in the liquor, and
held near an ounce aloft.

"I wonder what the Vinters buy
One-half so precious as the stuff they sell?"

he quoted. "Down goes!" and he emptied the glass at a draft. Then he
walked to the group at the stove, and began dipping a drink for each.

When Jimmy came to a gray-haired man, with a high forehead and an
intellectual face, he whispered: "Take your full time, Cap. Who's the
rhymin' inkybator?"

"Thread man, Boston," mouthed the Captain, as he reached for the glass
with trembling fingers. Jimmy held on. "Do you know that stuff he's
giving off?" The Captain nodded, and rose to his feet. He always
declared he could feel it farther if he drank standing.

"What's his name?" whispered Jimmy, releasing the glass. "Rubaiyat,
Omar Khayyam," panted the Captain, and was lost. Jimmy finished the
round of his friends, and then approached the bar.

His voice was softening. "Mister Ruben O'Khayam," he said, "it's me
private opinion that ye nade lace-trimmed pantalettes and a sash