Harry. “Thirty cents sounds an awful lot for onions.”
“Well, all right,” answered Chub, cheerfully. “Thirty cents a peck it is, Mrs. Bronson.”
“My name’s Benson,” replied the woman, tartly. “I hope for Mrs. Peel’s sake that her niece will come soon.” She held out her hand for the onions. “These go down to my account.”
“Sorry,” returned Chub, “but Mrs. Peel told us explicitly to sell only for cash.”
“But I tell you I have my things charged!” said the customer, warmly.
“I don’t doubt it, madam, but as Mrs. Peel would prefer to have the money, I’ll have to do it.”
“Well, I never heard of anything so idiotic! You give me those onions, or I’ll send Mr. Benson over here to talk to you, you young jackanapes.”
“I shall be very glad to hear Mr. Benson if he talks interestingly,” replied Chub, sweetly. “But if he wants the onions he will have to bring eight cents with him.”
Mrs. Benson looked wrathfully from Chub to
