Emmeline’s face fell. According to the advertisement, all England was munching Omnibus Nuts; it was very tiresome of Woodsleigh to be the one exception.
‘How long would it take you to order them for us?’ she asked anxiously.
‘There’s the carrier coming from Eastwich to-morrow, but you’d not get such things there, I don’t suppose, and it wouldn’t be worth our while to order them special from London, not the little quantity you’d want. I suppose it isn’t Miss Bolton who’s ordering them, by the way?’
‘No, but we shall want a very large quantity,’ said Emmeline, drawing herself up—‘nine-pennyworth every week.’
‘Yes,’ chimed in Micky, ‘we shall want a quite enormous quantity—somebody’s going to live just on Omnibus Nuts and chocolate.’
‘Well I never!’ ejaculated Mrs. Freeman, while Emmeline frowned and pressed Micky’s foot hard.
‘Well, can you order them for us?’ she asked hastily, hoping by a return to more formal business relations to avert suspicions.
‘Well, I don’t know, I’m sure,’ said Mrs. Freeman, eyeing her customers doubtfully. ‘You see, we should have to order them special from London.’
‘I don’t suppose you would,’ said Emmeline, impatiently; ‘you’d be almost sure to get them in Eastwich. Besides, once you’d got them in stock, everybody in the village would be buying them—they’re like meat, and milk, and vegetables all put together, it says, and they don’t cost hardly anything, and there’s no need to cook them.’