“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.” “Sixty cents!” almost shrieked the woman. “You must be crazy. I never paid more than five cents a quart in all my born days!” Chub looked inquiringly at Harry. “What is the price on them, Chub?” she asked. “It says thirty cents, and two quarts at thirty cents--” “Thirty cents a peck, you stupid!” said the woman. “It doesn’t say so,” Chub demurred doubtfully. “It doesn’t say whether they’re thirty cents a pint or thirty cents a bushel,” answered the customer, acidly, “but onions are always sold by the peck.” “Well, maybe you’re right,” said Chub. “So if you’ll take a peck we’ll call it thirty cents--” “I don’t want a peck. Who ever heard of any one buying a whole peck of onions at once?” “But you just said that they are always sold by the peck, and if that’s so--” “I meant they were always _priced_ by the peck, and if you had the sense of a goose you’d know something about it!” “I think she must be right, Chub,” observed 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 the bag of onions and wrathfully from the bag of onions to Harry. “You ain’t going to let me have them?” she demanded. “I shall be glad to, if you’ll pay cash,” replied Chub. “But Mrs. Peel, I am sure--” “She’ll rue the day she left you young ninnies in charge here,” interrupted Mrs. Benson, as she flung herself out of the store. “I was never so insulted in all my born days! You wait until Mr. Benson hears of this! You just wait!”