Now, numbers were not a Riverdale institution, and Bobby was a little perplexed about finding the one indicated.

A little study into the matter, however, set him right, and he soon had the satisfaction of seeing the bookseller's name over his store.
"F.

Bayard," he read; "this is the place." "Country!" shouted a little ragged boy, who dodged across the street at that moment.
"Just so, my beauty!" said Bobby, a little nettled at this imputation of verdancy.
"What a greeny!" shouted the little vagabond from the other side of the street.
"No matter, rag-tag! We'll settle that matter some other time." But Bobby felt that there was something in his appearance which subjected him to the remarks of others, and as he entered the shop, he determined to correct it as soon as possible.
A spruce young gentleman was behind the counter, who cast a mischievous glance at him as he entered.
"Mr.Bayard keep here ?" asked Bobby.
"Well, I reckon he does.

How are all the folks up country ?" replied the spruce clerk, with a rude grin.
"How are they ?" repeated Bobby, the color flying to his cheek.
"Yes, ha-ow do they dew ?" "They behave themselves better than they do here." "Eh, greeny ?" "Eh, sappy ?" repeated Bobby, mimicking the soft, silky tones of the young city gentleman.
"What do you mean by sappy ?" asked the clerk indignantly.
"What do you mean by greeny ?" "I'll let you know what I mean!" "When you do, I'll let you know what I mean by sappy." "Good!" exclaimed one of the salesmen, who had heard part of this spirited conversation.

"You will learn better by and by, Timmins, than to impose upon boys from out of town." "You seem to be a gentleman, sir," said Bobby, approaching the salesman.