They rested again at the Gumble counter—­and now they were not alone.  The acoustics of the small town are faultless, and the activities of this spendthrift had been noised abroad.  To the twins, as two of those and two of those and one of them were being ordered, came four other boys to linger cordially by and assist in the selections.  Hospitality was not gracefully avoidable.  The four received candy cigars and became mere hangers-on of the rich, lost to all self-respect, fawning, falsely solicitous, brightly expectant.  Chocolate mice were next distributed.  The four guests were now so much of the party as to manifest quick hostility to a fifth boy who had beamingly essayed to be numbered among them.  They officiously snubbed and even covertly threatened this fifth boy, who none the less lingered very determinedly by the host, and was presently rewarded with sticky largesse; whereupon he was accepted by the four, and himself became hostile to another aspirant.

But mere candy began to cloy—­Solly Gumble had opened the second box of chocolate mice—­and the host even abandoned his reenforced lemon, which was promptly communized by the group.  He tried to think of something to eat that wouldn’t be candy, whereupon mounted in his mind the pyramid of watermelons a block down the street before the Bon Ton Grocery.

“We’ll have a watermelon,” he announced in tones of quiet authority, and his cohorts gurgled applause.

They pressed noisily about him as he went to the Bon Ton.  They remembered a whale of a melon they had seen there, and said they would bet he never had enough money to buy that one.  Maybe he could buy a medium-sized one, but not that.  All of them kept a repellent manner for any passing boy who might be selfishly moved to join them.  The spendthrift let them babble, preserving a rather grim silence.  The whale of a melon was indeed a noble growth, and its price was thirty-five cents.  The announcement of this caused a solemn hush to fall upon the sycophants; a hush broken by the cool, masterful tones of their host.

“I’ll take her,” he said, and paid the fearful price from a still weighty pocket.  To the stoutest of the group went the honour of bearing off the lordly burden.  They turned into a cool alley that led to the rear of the shops.  Here in comparative solitude the whale of a melon could be consumed and the function be unmarred by the presence of volunteer guests.

“Open her,” ordered the host, and the new knife was used to open her.

She proved to be but half ripe, but her size was held to atone for this defect.  A small, unripe melon would have been returned to the dealer with loud complaining, but it seemed to be held that you couldn’t expect everything from one of this magnitude.  It was devoured to the rind, after which the convives reclined luxuriously upon a mound of excelsior beside an empty crate.

“Penny grabs!” cried the host with a fresh inspiration, and they cheered him.