A Man and His Money

"Well? What can I do for you?" The speaker - a scrubby little man - wheeled in the rickety office chair to regard some one hesitating on his threshold. The tones were not agreeable; the proprietor of the diminutive, run-down establishment, "The St. Cecilia Music Emporium," was not, for certain well defined reasons, in an amiable mood that morning. He had been about to reach down for a little brown jug which reposed on the spot usually allotted to the waste paper basket when the shadow...
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"Well? What can I do for you?" The speaker - a scrubby little man - wheeled in the rickety office chair to regard some one hesitating on his threshold. The tones were not agreeable; the proprietor of the diminutive, run-down establishment, "The St. Cecilia Music Emporium," was not, for certain well defined reasons, in an amiable mood that morning. He had been about to reach down for a little brown jug which reposed on the spot usually allotted to the waste paper basket when the shadow of the new-comer fell obtrusively, not to say offensively, upon him. It was not a reassuring shadow; it seemed to spring from an indeterminate personality. Mr. Kerry Mackin-tosh repeated his question more bruskly; the shadow (obviously not a customer, - no one ever sought Mr. Mackintosh's wares!) started; his face showed signs of a vacillating purpose.