She looked at every thing, priced it, beat down a cent or two, and then concluded she'd rather wait until Mr. Terry came in. At last she purchased a penny's worth of snuff, and begged Joe to give her good measure.
After that two customers and the mail. Father Terry bestirred himself, and waited upon a little girl with a jug.
Joe was rather glad to see Mr. Terry enter, for he had an uncomfortable sense of responsibility.
"Trade been pretty good, Joe?" with a smile.
"I've put it all down on the slate, as you told me."
"Hillo! What's this!"
A slow stream of something dark was running over the floor back of the lower counter.
"Oh, molasses!" and with a spring Joe shut off the current, but there was an ominous pool.
"I did not get that: it was"—and Joe turned crimson.
"Father. We never let him go for molasses, vinegar, oil, or burning fluid. He is sure to deluge us. Run round in the kitchen, and get a pail and a mop."