Everybody in Scranton will be rubbering all today, thinking they can see Marshal Hastings in each stranger in town.

I congratulate you, Jim; you're a peach at your trade, believe me." Of course that sort of "gush" just tickled Jim immensely.

He tried not to show it, but his eyes were twinkling with gratified vanity.
It was fine to hear other people complimenting him so warmly, even though they were but boys from Scranton High.

Praise is acceptable even from the lowly; and Jim made queer motions with his lips as though he might be rolling the sweet morsel over his tongue.
"Glad you like it, fellows," he said, in as unconcerned a voice as he could muster to the fore.

"Course there was some hurry, because I'm rushed for time, and I could have done a heap better if I really tried to lay myself out.