Jimmy Lah was pouring some soapy blender concoction for the bar's only customer besides himself, a fruitcake with a roosterish yellow Mohawk and oversized pink eyeglasses.

He plugged on steadily, unmindful of where he was going. He was aboil with perturbation.

Here alſo ſprong that goodly golden fruit, / With which Acontius got his louer trew, / Whom he had long time ſought with fruitleſſe ſuit; […]

It is pleasant to acknowledge an obligation when the favour has been bestowed courteously and ungrudgingly.