The consequence was that the lads over the age limit bought and owned
the cigarettes, and with fine capitalist instinct let them out to the
youngsters at a farthing the puff. Albert when under age had instituted
the puff, and when over it had organized the tariff. By the
puff-a-farthing method the cigarettes could not be confiscated, for they
belonged only to those who had a prescriptive right to them, while the
puffers, with a little cunning, were able to enjoy illicit smokes.

Jerry, the economist with the corrugated brow, and Stanley the stupid,
both with cigarettes in their mouths, were standing apart in lofty
isolation, as befitted the fathers of the flock.

A cherub-faced urchin, playing cards, and deep in his play, was humming
abstractedly the chorus of a catchy song.

Stanley nudged his pal, strolled up behind the youth, and boxed his
ears.

The whistler rose and rubbed his ear, aggrieved.

"What's that for?" he asked.

Stanley scowled down at him.

"Whistlin' that at Putnam's o' Sunday."

"What were I whistlin' then?" asked the aggrieved urchin.

"Mocassin Song," said the haughty Stan. "Now no more of it!"

"I didn't know I were whistlin' it," replied the youth.

"He whistles it in his dreams, Alf does," explained a little pal. "It's
got to his head."

"He won't 'ave no 'ead to dream with if he mocassins us," retorted Stan.

The wrong righted, and order restored, Stanley stalked majestically back
to his pal with a wink.

"Where's Albert then?" asked Jerry.

"He said he wasn't comin'."

"He's been sayin' that every Sunday these ten year past," answered Jerry
with the insolence of the ancient habitue. "Ere, one o' you kids, fetch
me a bit o' chalk. I 'ate to see you idlin' your time away, gamblin' and
dicin', like the Profligate Son when he broke the bank at Monte Carlo."

He mounted the platform.

"While Ginger's gettin' the chalk I'll ask you a question or two to
testify your general knowledge."

He took the cigarette out of his mouth, and wriggled his chin above his
high collar.

"Who done Mr. Silver down?" he asked pontifically.

There was a moment's silence. Then a hand went up.

"Chukkers," piped the cherub-faced urchin.

There was a jeer from the other lads, and even the proud Stanley deigned
to smile.

"Alf's got Chukkers on the crumpet," Jerry said sardonically. "If there
was a nearthquake and they ask Alf who done it, he'd say Chukkers."

"Well, he's up to all sorts," re