Betty picked out the cards she wanted from the rack, and then noticed more piles behind the counter.
“Oh, are there some others back there?” she asked. “May I see them, please?”
The old gentleman said something which Betty mistook for permission to go behind the counter and look; but as she started to do so he barred her way.
“No, no, madam,” he said sternly. “You can go wherever you like in your own country, but in my shop you stay where you belong.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said Betty meekly. “I thought you said I might see them. I’m very, very sorry.”
“I said I wad bring ye the ones that were deeferent from those in the rack,” said the old man, glaring at poor Betty from under his beetling eyebrows.
“Let’s not buy his old cards,” muttered Babe indignantly in Betty’s ear.
But Betty smiled and shook her head. “They’re too pretty to lose,” she whispered. “We should be just spiting ourselves.”
By this time the old Scotchman seemed to be a little mollified, and condescended to ask the girls what trips they had taken from Oban and to show them some views of Glencoe, a beautiful mountain pass, and of Iona, the island where Saint Columba’s church is, both of which he recommended them to visit. Babe listened in sulky silence, leaving Betty to answer his questions and thank him for his advice.
“Come again, leedies,” he said, as they went out, and Betty thanked him politely for that, too.