Poppins); that one of the young clerks in the store
had done fine in the Modified Marathon; that the Cubs had had a
great team this year; that he'd be glad to give Mr.--Mr.
Wrenn, eh?--one of those Manila cigars--great cigars they were,
too; and that he hadn't "laughed so much for a month of Sundays
as he had over the way they stung Miggleton's on them matches."
All this in the easy, affectionate, slightly wistful manner of
fat men. Mr. Poppins's large round friendly childish eyes were
never sarcastic. He was the man who makes of a crowd in the
Pullman smoking-room old friends in half an hour. In turn, Mr.
Wrenn did not shy off; he hinted at most of his lifelong
ambitions and a fair number of his sorrows and, when they
reached the store, not only calmly accepted, but even sneezingly
ignited one of the "slick new Manila cigars."
As he left the store he knew that the golden age had begun.
He had a friend!
He was to see Tom Poppins the coming Thursday at Miggleton's.
And now he was going to find Morton! He laughed so loudly that
the policeman at Thirty-fourth Street looked self-conscious and
felt secretively to find out what was the matter with his
uniform.
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