“N-nothing else, thank you. Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Benson.”
When he had gone, Chub sank into a chair and burst out laughing.
“He leads a merry life, Harry,” he gasped. “Wouldn’t I just love to be Mrs. Benson’s husband!”
“It’s too bad to laugh at him,” replied Harry, suppressing her own smiles. “He looked like a very nice old man.”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t be in his boots for a fortune. Let’s put the money away. That’s sale number two. At this rate we’ll make Mrs. Peel rich before Jennie comes.”
Harry deposited the coins in the till and made another entry on her record:
2 quarts of onions. . . . . . . . . . .08
Then she went back to her book, and Chub took the chair at the other side of the open door and watched her a while. Presently, “I say, Harry,” he asked, “what’s the price of that book?”
“Ten cents,” she answered, glancing at the cover.
“Are you going to read it through?”
