celebrated our two hundred and fiftieth birthday. I tell you, Mr. Cheyne, the old city did herself credit.”
“So I heard. It pays, too. What’s the matter with the town that it don’t have a first-class hotel, though?”
“—Right over there to the left, Pedro. Heaps o’ room for you and your crowd.—Why, that’s what I tell ’em all the time, Mr. Cheyne. There’s big money in it, but I presume that don’t affect you any. What we want is—”
A heavy hand fell on his broadcloth shoulder, and the flushed skipper of a Portland coal-and-ice coaster spun him half round.
“What in thunder do you fellows mean by clappin’ the law on the town when all decent men are at sea this way? Heh? Town’s dry as a bone, an’ smells a sight worse sence I quit. ’Might ha’ left us one saloon for soft drinks, anyway.”
“Don’t seem to have hindered your nourishment this morning, Carsen. I’ll go into the politics of it later. Sit down by the door and think over your arguments till I come back.”
“What good is arguments to me? In Miquelon champagne’s eighteen dollars a case and—” The skipper lurched into his seat as an organ-prelude silenced him.
“Our new organ,” said the official proudly to Cheyne. “Cost us four thousand dollars, too. We’ll have to get back to high-license next year to pay for it. I wasn’t going to let the ministers have all the religion at their convention. Those are some of our orphans standing up to sing. My wife taught ’em. See you again later, Mr. Cheyne. I’m wanted on