Mary Louise sighed: this couldn’t be the same person, then, for the boys would surely have noticed a limp.
“Here’s my list,” she said, handing her mother’s paper to Mr. Eberhardt. “Do you think you have all those things?”
“If I ain’t, I can get ’em fer you,” was the cheerful reply.
The girls wandered idly about the store while they waited for their order to be filled. Jane had a wonderful time examining the queer articles on display and laughing at the ready-made dresses. At last, however, a boy carried their supplies to the car, and Mary Louise asked for the bill.
“Nine dollars and sixty-two cents,” announced Mr. Eberhardt, with a grin. “You folks sure must like to eat!”
“We do,” agreed Mary Louise. “I suppose this will mean more business for you. Or did the Flicks buy groceries from you anyhow?”
“No, they didn’t. They got most of their stuff from the city.... Yes, in a way it’s a streak of luck fer me. The old sayin’, you know—that it’s an ill wind that brings nobody luck!... Yes, I’ll have to be stockin’ up.”
Mary Louise and Jane followed the boy to the car and drove away. As soon as they were safely out of hearing, Mary Louise said significantly, “Two more suspects for my notebook!”
“Two?” repeated Jane. “You mean Lemuel Adams and his son?”
“I wasn’t thinking of the son,” replied Mary Louise, “Though, of course, he’s a possibility. No, I was thinking of Mr. Eberhardt, the storekeeper.”