“How much candy did that boy give you every day?” asked Anderson.

Eddy wriggled.  “Well, maybe he didn’t give me more ’n half a pound,” he muttered.

“How much?”

“Well, maybe it wasn’t more ’n a quarter.  I don’t know.”

“How much?” persisted Anderson.

“Well, maybe it might have been three pieces; it was a good many years ago.  A fellow can’t remember everything.”

“How much?” asked Anderson, pitilessly.

“One piece.”

“How much?”

“Well, maybe it wasn’t any at all,” Eddy burst out, in desperation, “but I don’t see what odds it makes.  I call it an awful fuss about a little mite of candy, for my part.”

“Now about that boy?” inquired Anderson.

“Oh, shucks, there wasn’t any boy, I s’pose.”  Eddy gazed resentfully and admiringly at the man.  “Say,” he said, without the slightest sarcasm, rather with affection and perfect seriousness, “you are awful smart, ain’t you?”

Anderson modestly murmured a disclaimer of any especial smartness.

“Yes, you are awful smart,” declared Eddy.  “Is it because you used to be a lawyer that you are so smart?”

“The law may make a difference in a man’s skill for finding out the truth,” admitted Anderson.

“Say,” said the boy, “I’ve been thinking all along that when I was a man I would rather be a grocer than anything else, but I don’t know but I’d rather be a lawyer, after all.  It would be so nice to be able to find out when folks were not telling the truth, and trying to hide when they had been stealing and doing bad things.  ‘No, you don’t,’ I’d say; ‘no, you don’t, mister.  I see right through you.’  I rather think I’d like that better.  Say?”

“What is it?” asked Anderson.

“Why didn’t you come to the wedding?  I saved a lot of things for you.”

“I told you I thought I should not be able to come.  I was very much obliged for the invitation,” said Anderson, apologetically.

“I looked for you till eleven o’clock.  You ought to have come, after I took all that trouble to get an invitation for you.  I don’t think you were very polite.”

“I am very sorry,” murmured Anderson.

“I think you ought to be.  You don’t know what you missed.  Ina looked awful pretty, but Charlotte looked prettier, if she wasn’t the bride.  Don’t you think Charlotte is an awful pretty girl?”

“Very,” replied Anderson, smiling.

“You’d better.  I heard her say she thought you was an awful handsome man, the handsomest man in this town.  Say, I think Charlotte would like to get married, now Ina is married.  I guess she feels kind of slighted.  Why don’t you marry Charlotte?”

“Wouldn’t you like some of those molasses-peppermints, now you have finished the chocolates?” asked Anderson.

“No, I guess not, thank you.  I don’t feel very well this morning.  Say, why don’t you?  She’s an awful nice girl—­honest.  And maybe I would come and live with you.  I would part of the time, anyway, and I would help in the store.”