"I've had the honour of admiring Miss Tuthill from a distance," Duncan assured the younger woman. And, "She'll burn up!" he feared secretly, watching the conflagration of blushes that she displayed. "Just think of getting away with a line of mush like that! Harry was right after all: this is a country town, all right." "And--and are you working here, Mr. Duncan?" Josie pursued. "I'm supposed to be; I'm afraid I don't know the business very well, as yet." "Oh, that's awf'ly nice," Angle thought. He thanked her humbly. "We didn't expect to see you here," Josie assured him. "We just thought we'd like some soda." "Soda!" he parroted, horrified. He cast a glance askance at the tawdry fountain. "Let's see: how d'you work the infernal thing?" he asked himself, utterly bewildered. "Yes," Angie chimed in; "it's so warm this afternoon, we----" "I've got to put it through somehow," he thought savagely. And aloud, "Yes, certainly," he said, and smiled winningly. "Will you be pleased to step this way?" Out of the corners of his eyes he detected the amused look that passed between the girls. "Oh, very well!" he said beneath his breath. "You may laugh, but you asked for soda, and soda you shall have, my dears, if you die of it." He put himself behind the counter with an air of great determination, and leaned upon it with both hands outspread until he realised that this was the pose of a groceryman. "What'll you have?" he demanded genially. "Er--that is--I mean, would you prefer vanilla or--ah--soda?" A chant antiphonal answered him: "I hate vanilla." "And so do I." "Oh, don't say that!" he pleaded. "Of course you know there's--ah-- vanilla and vanilla..., Ah... some vanilla I know is detestable, but when you get a really fine vintage--ah--imported vanilla, it's quite another matter--ah--particularly at his season of the year----" His confusion was becoming painful. "Oh, is it?" asked Josie helpfully. Her eyes dwelt upon his with a confiding expression which he later characterised as a baby stare; and he was promptly reduced to babbling idiocy. "Indeed it is; no doubt whatever, Miss Lockwood. Especially just now, you know--ah--after the bock season--ah--I mean, when the weather is-- is--in a way--you might put it--vanilla weather." "But I like chocolate best," Angle pouted. And he hated her consumedly for the moment. "Very well," Josie told him sweetly, "I'll have the vanilla."