He emptied the contents of his pockets on the table.
“A knife, a pencil, a price-list, a button, that sure emblem of bachelorhood. What shall I give my love?” He whistled in a low tone as he ran over an inventory of his pocket treasures.
“Not a knife, for true love’s sake. It is the worst of signs.”
“You put trust in signs, then? I should give you a lover’s knot,” he replied, as he continued jokingly to investigate his pockets. “Ah! I have it. Here is just the thing. The making of a bow, which you can wear and think of me.”
“I keep thinking of you without a bow,” she replied. “But I will take it. What a lovely shade! Did you choose that on purpose for me?”
He had drawn a strip of delicately-colored silk from his pocket.
“I might as well take the credit of it,” he replied. “I know you ladies think men are no judges of colors, but you see my taste there. Will that pay my forfeit?”
“Certainly,” she replied as she twined the silk round her hand and admired its play of color. “You are forgiven. I will make me a bow that will rouse the envy of all the ladies. But there, our ice is all afloat. Mr. Price will take it as a personal insult if we disdain his ices in this way.”
“And I must return to the store. The voice of the siren has lured me away too long.”
“I wish you could be lured away oftener,” she replied. “You are infatuated with that stupid old business. I do believe you prefer it to me.” She gave him a humorous look as they left the saloon in company.