“Where’s Mrs. Peel?” she demanded of Harry.
“She’s gone away to visit her sister, who is ill at—at somewhere down the river. She’s left us in charge of the store until her niece comes. Can I do anything for you?”
“Humph!” said the woman. “She always was crazy. Well, I want two quarts of onions, but I guess I can get them myself, young lady.”
“Oh, Chub will serve you,” said Harry, sweetly. “Chub, please measure two quarts of onions for this lady.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Chub. He got a paper sack and found the wooden measure. “Two quarts, madam?”
“That’s what I said,” replied the woman, sourly. “And I don’t want all the little runts there are, either. Mr. Benson said last week that he never seen meaner-lookin’ onions than what I got here.”
“Oh, I think these will suit you,” said Chub, filling the measure. “Let me see now.” Chub studied the figures on the paper bag which lay on top of the basket. “Two quarts will be sixty cents, madam.”
