“Phew!” breathed Chub, as he set the bag of onions down. “She has a horrid disposition, hasn’t she?” “Maybe,” said Harry, uneasily, “we ought to have let her have them. We wouldn’t want Mrs. Peel to lose a customer, would we?” “The loss of that sort of a customer wouldn’t hurt much,” returned Chub. “Too bad we couldn’t make a sale, though. That cash drawer looks mighty empty. Hello! there goes an automobile. Did you see it?” “Yes. Do you--do you suppose she’ll send her husband over?” “Can’t say,” answered Chub, carelessly. “But he might be angry and make trouble.” “Let him try it,” said Chub, grimly. “I’ll take care of him if he tries to make a fuss.” At that moment a form appeared at the door. “Maybe it’s Mr. Benson,” muttered Chub, as he strolled to meet him. The newcomer was a little wisp of a man, with a nervous smile and a diffident manner and a thin, high-pitched voice. “Good afternoon,” said Chub, affably. “Good afternoon, sir, good afternoon,” squeaked Mr. Benson. “Nice weather for the time of year.” “Some of the best,” answered Chub, cheerfully. “Can I do anything for you, sir?” “Er--if you please. My wife sent me over for--for two quarts of onions. She--she was over awhile back and didn’t have the money with her.” He placed eight cents on the counter and smiled ingratiatingly, rubbing his hands nervously together. “Right here,” said Chub, handing him the bag. “Eight cents; quite correct, thank you. Nothing else to-day?” “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?” “I--I don’t know. Do you think I oughtn’t to, Chub?” “Suit yourself,” answered Chub, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I was just wondering whether you could afford to read it.” “Afford to?” asked Harry. “What do you mean?” “Well, it’s a ten-cent book, isn’t it?” “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Do you think I ought to pay for it?” “Why not? You’re getting the use of it, aren’t you? It’s just the same as though you took it away with you.” “Why, no, because I’ll put it back in the window and Mrs. Peel can sell it again.”