There was another pause before the broker spoke again.
"Then, s'posing I could get you forty-six cents for your stock, would you take it? That's rather above the market price, you know."
"'Taint up to my price," said Marietta, trying to make a group of painter's brush look artistic.
"What would you take for it then?" asked Inches.
Marietta put down her work and drew herself up, to rest her back, and make an end of the interview at a blow.
"Look here, Mr. Inches," she said, with decision; "seeing you want the stock so bad, I guess I'll hold on to it!"
She was still holding on with unwavering persistence when, a few days after that, Dayton came into the shop. He wondered, as he entered the door, what could be the unpleasant association that was aroused in him by the familiar atmosphere of skins and dried flowers and general "stock in trade" which pervaded the place. No sooner did his eye fall upon Marietta coming towards him, however, than he recalled the distasteful part of adviser which had been forced upon him on the occasion of his last visit. He tried to think that he had washed his hands of the whole matter, but, "Mrs. Jim," he found himself saying; "did you go into mines the other day?"
"Yes."
"What did you buy?"
"H. O. P."