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 prescription. The completed mixture was of a vile, mottled chocolate color. McQuirk tasted it, and hurled it, with appropriate epithets, into the waste sink.

“’Tis a strange story, even if true,” said Con. “I’ll be going now along to my supper.”

“Take a drink,” said Riley. “We’ve all kinds except the lost blend.”

“I never drink,” said Con, “anything stronger than water. I am just after meeting Miss Katherine by the stairs. She said a true word. ‘There’s not anything,’ says she, ‘but is better off for a little water.’”

When Con had left them Riley almost felled McQuirk by a blow on the back.

“Did ye hear that?” he shouted. “Two fools are we. The six dozen bottles of pollinaris we had on the ship—ye opened them yourself—which barrel did ye pour them in—which barrel, ye mudhead?”

“I mind,” said McQuirk, slowly, “’twas in the second barrel we opened. I mind the blue piece of paper pasted on the side of it.”

“We’ve got it now,” cried Riley. “’ Twas that we lacked. ’Tis the water that does the trick. Everything else we had right. Hurry, man, and get two bottles of pollinaris from the bar, while I figure out the proportionments with me pencil.”

An hour later Con strolled down the sidewalk toward Kenealy’s cafe. Thus faithful employees haunt,