Therewasalulljustthenintheice—creambusiness，itbeingdinner—time，andwefoundthesaloonunoccupied。Whenwehadseatedourselvesaroundthelargestmarble—toppedtable，CharleyMardeninamanlyvoiceorderedtwelvesixpennyicecreams，\"strawberryandvernellermixed。\"
Itwasamagnificentsight，thosetwelvechillyglassesenteringtheroomonawaiter，theredandwhitecustardrisingfromeachglasslikeachurch—steeple，andthespoon—handleshootingupfromtheapexlikeaspire。Idoubtifapersonofthenicestpalatecouldhavedistinguished，withhiseyesshut，whichwasthevanillaandwhichthestrawberry;butifIcouldatthismomentobtainacreamtastingasthatdid，Iwouldgivefivedollarsforaverysmallquantity。
Wefelltowithawill，andsoevenlybalancedwereourcapabilitiesthatwefinishedourcreamstogether，thespoonsclinkingintheglasseslikeonespoon。
\"Let’shavesomemore！\"criedCharleyMarden，withtheairofAladdinorderingupafreshhogsheadofpearlsandrubies。\"TomBailey，tellPettingiltosendinanotherround。\"
CouldIcreditmyears？Ilookedathimtoseeifhewereinearnest。Hemeantit。InamomentmoreIwasleaningoverthecountergivingdirectionsforasecondsupply。ThinkingitwouldmakenodifferencetosuchagorgeousyoungsybariteasMarden，Itookthelibertyoforderingninepennycreamsthistime。