resolved to repair the error. So, luncheon over, he said with an appearance of carelessness: "I say, old man, come on over to the jigger-shop. I'll set 'em up. I'm pretty flush, you know." The Butcher looked down at the funny face and saw the kindly motive under the exaggerated bluffness. Being touched by it, he said gruffly: "Well; come on, then, you old billionaire!" The Big Man felt a great movement of sympathy in him for his big comrade. He would have liked to slip his little fist in the great brown hand and say something appropriate, only he could think of nothing appropriate. Then he remembered that among men there should be no letting down, no sentimentality. So[12] he lounged along, squinting up at the Butcher and trying to copy his rolling gait. [12] At the jigger-shop, Al lifted his eyebrows in well-informed disapproval, saying curtly: "What are you doing here, you Butcher, you?" "Building up my constitution," said Stevens, with a frown. "I'm staying because I like it, of course. Lawrenceville is just lovely at Easter: spring birds and violets, and that sort of thing." "You're a nice one," said Al, a baseball enthusiast. "Why couldn't you behave until after the Andover game?" "Of course; but you needn't rub it in," replied the Butcher, staring at the floor. "Give me a double strawberry, and heave it over." Al, seeing him not insensible, relented. He added another dab to the double jigger already delivered, and said, shoving over the glass: "It's pretty hard luck on the team, Butcher. There's no one hereabouts can hold down the bag like you. Heard anything definite?" "No." "What do you think?" "I'd hate to say." "Is any one doing anything?"
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