I'll fetch
'em."
Thus, as was usual, the higgler went backward and forward between the
door and his cart; and Mavis, with the baby on her arm, at intervals
inspected various commodities. Eventually she purchased a capon for
the Sunday dinner, paid for it, and bade Mr. Druitt good-by.
"Good-by, mum--and much obliged."
But then, quite ten minutes afterward, his shadow once more fell
across the kitchen floor. He had not really gone yet. Here he was back
again at the kitchen door, staring reflectively at his grubby little
pocketbook.
"Beg pardon--but did I mention the side o' bacon I've been promised
for Tuesday. It's good bacon."
Mavis Dale with courteous finality dismissed him; but Mary, whose
ordinarily red cheeks had become a fiery crimson, spoke hotly and
angrily.
"Drat the man. I've no patience with him. He ought to know better,
going on so."
"But what harm does he do, poor fellow," said Mavis, indulgently,
"except muddling away his own time?"
"He's up to no good," said Mary; and she flounced across to the door,
and looked out at the now empty path. "Hanging about like that! Why
can't he keep away? I don't want him."
Mrs. Goudie, at the sink, screwed up her wrinkled nut-cracker face,
and chuckled.
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