he turned to set the mixture on the whirring electric disk, he found they were all occupied. Undaunted, he snatched up two glasses, poured the brown fluid into one of them and proceeded to fling the liquid from one glass to another. As he warmed to this task, his eye caught the headline on the newspaper in which the head of the man next to his customer was buried. "Yanks Must Win Today to Stay in Pennant Chase," shrieked this heading. Speedy tried to read more, but a woman's scream stopped him.
Taking his eye off his task had resulted in his flinging the full contents of the glass into the irate matron's ample lap!
She rose to her feet, yelling and pointing to her ruined gown. The whole shop turned toward her cries. Customers rose from their tables. Smythe came running from the cashier's cage. The proprietor, gushing apologies, procured a rag as if from mid-air and industriously wiped the stains. Speedy's tared, panic-stricken.
"It's all right, lady. Send the dress to the cleaners and bring me the bill," soothed Smythe.
"That awful clerk. That loafer!" cried the injured one.
"I'll attend to him!" said Smythe, grimly.
Finally, appeased but still muttering, the abused customer was led to the door. Smythe returned, tight-lipped. He walked up to the pale Speedy.
"One more like that and out you go!" threatened Smythe.
Speedy was silent.
Smythe's Sweets Shoppe settled down. No ca-
