She ran laughing to Billy, and clasping his arm affectionately, said with a touch of seriousness:—
"It comes whenever you say it does, Billy Little. I'd believe you before I'd believe myself."
Poor old bachelor heart! Look to your breastworks; the enemy is at hand.
"Now I've noticed," said cynical Billy, "that whenever the feminine heart wants something, it grows tender. What do you want?"
"I want a letter, Billy Little. Father sent me down to fetch it, if there is one."
"Yes, there's one here," he answered, going back of the glass-covered pigeon-holes. "There's one here from Indianapolis. It's from your Uncle Jim Fisher. I suppose he's after your father again to sell his farm and invest the proceeds in the Indianapolis store. Precious fool he'll be if he does."
"Indeed, he would not be a fool," retorted the girl. "I'm just wild for father to move to Indianapolis. I don't want to grow up in the country like a ragweed or mullein stalk, and I—" ("Like a sweetbrier or a golden-rod," interrupted Billy) "and I don't want you to advise him not to go," she continued, unmindful of Billy's flowers of poesy.
"Well, here's the letter. Do you want anything else?"
"N-o-o-no."
"Then, for once, I've found a disinterested female in a coaxing mood," replied this modern Diogenes. He came from behind the counter, pretending to believe her, and started toward the door.