head
impatiently.

"'You distracted me,' he said. 'I forgot my reputation's salvation in
the smile of your eye.'

"But we drove on to look the field over. Less than half a mile down
the road we came to a low creek with rocky rugged banks. The banks
were splashed and splattered with bits of glass, and over the glass and
over the rocks ran thin trickling streams of a pale brown liquid that
had a perfectly sickening odor. I sniffed disgustedly as we walked
over to reconnoiter.

"'I guess he made good all right,' said Kirke in a disappointed voice,
inspecting the glass-splattered banks of the creek. Then he leaped
across and walked lightly up the bank on the opposite side. Stooping
down, he lifted an unbroken bottle and waved it at me, laughing.

"'They missed one. Never a crack in it and still cold.' He looked at
it curiously, affectionately, then with resignation. 'I am a
minister's son,' he reminded himself sternly. He lifted the bottle
above his head, and with his eye selected a nice rough rock half way
down the bank. 'Watch the bubbles,' he called to me.

"'Hay, mister,' interposed a voice, 'gimme half a dollar an' I'll show
you a whole pile of 'em that ain't broke.'

"Slowly we rallied from our stupefaction as we gazed at the slim,
brown, barefooted lad of the farm who was proudly brandishing a
forbidden cigarette of corn-silks.

"'A whole pile of 'em. On the square?' asked Kirke with glittering
eyes.

"'Yes, sir. A couple o' fellows come out in a light wagon a while ago
an' had a lot of bottles in boxes. First they throwed one on the
rocks, an' then they throwed one up in the tall grass, one up an' one
down. There's a whole pile of 'em that ain't broke at all. An' the
little dark fellow says, "A good job, Gus. We'll be Johnny-on-the-spot
as soon as it gets dark."'

"Kirke was standing over him, his eyes bright, his hands clenched. 'On
the level?' he whispered.

"'Sure, but gimme the half first.' Kirke passed out a silver dollar
without a word and the boy snatched it from him, giggling to himself
with rapture.

"'Right up there, mister, in that pile of weeds.'

"Kirke took my hand and we scrambled up the bank, pulling back the tall
grass,--no need to stoop and look. Bottle after bottle, bottle after
bottle, lay there snugly and securely, waiting for the sheriff and his
friend to rescue them after dark.

"The lad had already disappeared, smoking his corn-silks rapturously,
his dol