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.

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

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