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Updated: June 23, 2025
"It'll all end in a little paragraph or two in the Morning Journal, to the effect that some unknown safecracksman or other accidentally came in contact with a live wire, and was shocked to death in the very act of breaking into a pious and unoffendin' cigar-store vault! And you'll be the only one who'll know anything different, and I guess you won't do much squealin' about it!"
The boy noticed that the men jumped from the open cars in summer, ran into the cigar-store before which the watering-trough was placed, and got a drink of water from the ice-cooler placed near the door. But that was not so easily possible for the women, and they, especially the children, were forced to take the long ride without a drink.
The cigar-store was closed. At home Mrs. That was to keep back the "O God, how rotten I feel!" with which, in his room, he voiced the desolation of loneliness.
Wrenn, who grinned back as the machine failed to work. "Let me try it," caroled Mr. Wrenn, and pounded the lever with the enthusiasm of comradeship. "Nothing doing, lady," crowed the fat man to the cashier. "I guess I draw two boxes, too, eh? And I'm in a cigar-store. How's that for stinging your competitors, heh? Ho, ho, ho!"
He didn't have to take dancing lessons or fear the results of losing his job, or of being robbed of his interests in the Touricar. He glanced interestedly at a pretty girl; recklessly went into a cigar-store and bought a fifteen-cent cigar. He was free again. As he marched on, however, his defiance began to ooze away.
"Reg'lar Indian-Summer weather." "Yes, isn't it! I feel like taking a walk on Riverside Drive b'lieve I will." "Wish I had time. But I gotta get down to the store cigar-store. I'm on nights, three times a week." "Yuh. I've seen you here most every time I eat early," Mr. Wrenn purred. "Yuh. The rest of the time I eat at the boarding-house." Silence. But Mr.
"Well, it is better to try it and fail than to stand there like a cigar-store Indian and offer fool suggestions!" snapped the inventor, making a vicious attack at the opposite side of the pile. It really did seem more substantial. Hawkins, by the aid of both hands, both feet, his elbows, his knees, and possibly his teeth as well, managed to scramble upward for a dozen feet or so.
The billiard-hall did not tempt him; but at the cigar-store he met and fell under the spell of Henry Larmy known of the town as "Old Hen," though he was not two score years gone and the two began chumming together.
The cigar-store philosopher put his paper down and reached into the show case for the box that the judge wanted. "It looks like McIver played the wrong cards in his little game with Jake Vodell," he remarked, as the judge made a careful selection. "I am afraid so," returned the judge.
The freckles disappeared in a rosy blush as with a red-stained hand she held out a bag of tobacco. "Lou! Why, you you precious kid!" Jim stammered. "You worked in all this heat, while I lay here and slept." "It wasn't far back to New Hartz, an' I'd seen where the cigar-store was when we came by. The woman at the house, she give me the pie, an' I've got ten cents left besides.
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