d?"

The druggist is busy finding a cork for a bottle. At last he comes to
the light to try the cork. He is behind a show-case. Corkey is in
front of the, case holding a newspaper in hand, out of which he has
been reading of the coronation. His black eyes seem to pierce David
Lockwin's face. David Lockwin looks back--in hope, if any feeling can
show itself in that veiled countenance.

"He ain't dead! Not much! Can't tell me! I don't bury boats for
nothing. I tell you I think a heap of her, and she slung herself so on
that hospital and on that other thing there, out north, that I'd hate
to give her away. What was that yawl buried for? Nobody see it and it
was worth money, too. What was it buried for? Now I never tell you
the story of the night on the old tub. He sit just so."

Corkey takes a seat behind the stove and imitates David Lockwin.

The druggist gazes as in a stupor. He steps to his little room and
removes the chair. He must not sit and cogitate.

"Something ail him. I guess he was crazy."

"He must have been," says the druggist, "if he wasn't killed."

"Oh, he wasn't killed. Can't tell me. Now, suppose he want to come
back to Chicago--ain't he in a sweet box? And his wife over there
crying her eyes out--with more money--with more money--well--"

Corkey's head vibrates, his tongue whirs, he sneezes. Children,
romping on the sidewalk, troop to the door of the druggist to learn
what has happened.

Corkey looks at the prescription booth. He notes the blue copper water
at each corner. His eyes rise to the white partition which separates
the rear room from the store.

"Sleep in there?"

"Yes," says the druggist, huskily.

"Get out of here!" cries Corkey to the last of the merry throng. "I
used to play just that same way right here in this street. Cozy place
in there. Well, I ain't so smart, but I've had a scheme on ever since
I found that yawl. She's crying her eyes out over there--you can't
tell me, for I know. Mebbe his nobs would like to come back. I'm
going to sound her, and if she's favorable I'm going to advertise--see?"

"Do you see her often?"

"Yes, oftener than I want to. You see she makes me go over that last
night on the old tub and on the yawl. Now I'm getting tired of telling
how he died. He ain't dead. But she seems to harp on that. You just
ought to hear her cap him up. He's the greatest and goodest man you
ever see. Well, now. I'm going to change