The clerk laughed. "You see what you're in for, young man," she said, with the familiarity which rather too often characterizes clerks in our semi-rural regions. I fear I coloured more than Miss Goodwin, which didn't help matters any. "Please show us something at a reasonable cost," the girl said, with a curious, dignified severity, which was effective. "That will do, won't it, Mr. Upton?" she presently asked, with pointed emphasis on the formal address, as a pretty set of dishes with a simple pattern on the edge was displayed for $25. "Admirably," said I. "But I wanted the crimson and gold ones." "Now for the kitchen things," said she, with her old smile again. Here we made use of Mrs. Bert's list, and left our order to be filled. As we stepped out on the street, we looked at each other, and laughed. "It's preposterous, but I suppose the evidence is against us," she twinkled. "The evidence is against us, at any rate," I answered. She looked away quickly, and said, "Where is the furniture store?" We found it, and here we looked at iron beds for Mrs. Pillig and son Peter, and for one of the spare rooms so that I might have a guest up after college closed. She let me have the bed I wanted for the spare room, but the other two had to be plainer--or rather less plain, for the cheaper furniture is, the more jimcracky it appears to be. I asked the clerk why simplicity is always expensive, but he threw no light on the point. Next we bought a few cheap bedroom chairs, and a cheap bureau for Mrs. Pillig, and a better bureau for the spare room. I bought no other furniture, preferring to wait till I could get to New York or Boston, or better yet pick up old mahogany at country auctions, which I then believed in my ignorance was possible. Then we invaded the dry-goods shop, where again I stood helplessly by while the girl bought bedding and tablecloths and napkins and dishcloths and towels. "I know you haven't any decent towels," she said, "because you've been a bachelor so long, and sent 'em to laundries. I send mine to laundries, too. That's how I know." I stood by helplessly, but not without emotion. Many emotions are possible to a man while watching a woman shop, the most common, perhaps, being impatience. Your average woman shopping is the epitome of irresolution, or so it seems to the man. She always explains the huge pile of goods, which she compels the poor clerk to heap on the counter, by an alleged desire to get the most for her money--though she almost invariably comes back to the first thing exhibited and buys that in the end. A mere man buys the first thing he likes then and there. But my companion was not the usual woman shopper. She wanted towels of a certain grade, for instance, inspected them, and if they were up to her standard bought them without further to-do. At my enthusiastic comments she smiled. "That's because it is your money I'm spending. I don't have to count the pennies!"