"Why, no," she said. "They couldn't get in to save their little souls. You see"—she turned again to Elihu—"the agent was here this afternoon—"
Old Mis' Meade almost groaned, and went away to her bedroom, as if she could not endure the hearing of the coming contest or to see the slain.
"What agent?" asked Elihu.
He had gone back to his seat by the fire, and Amarita, answering, stood with her hand upon the devastated table.
"Why, the book agent. He come in a buggy, and he had this set with him."
"Set o' what?"
"Why, set o' books. He's takin' orders for 'em, and this was a set he brought along under the seat, thinkin' somebody, the minister or somebody that knew what's what, would buy it right out. There's twelve volumes, and they're a dollar and eighty-seven a volume, and there's illustrations, and it's all printed in the clearest type."
She paused, flushed and expectant, and Elihu stared at her.
"A dollar and eighty-seven cents!" he repeated. "You ain't gone and put your name down for twelve books, a dollar and eighty-seven cents apiece?"
"Why, no," said Amarita. "Course I ain't. I didn't have the money, and so I told him. I would, in a minute, if I'd had it."