“Not really?”
“Yes, really. Do you think I’m going to miss any of the treat? Biggest boxes, please.”
Constance lifted from the case a pound box of each variety.
“How much?” asked Mr. Porter.
“Why nothing to you? How could I?” she asked, coloring at the thought of accepting more from him.
“Now see here, young lady, that won’t do. You can’t begin that way. Your business has got to be spot cash. Don’t forget that, or you’ll get into difficulties,” said her customer with a warning nod of his head.
“As near as I can make out Mr. Porter, it’s just the other way about; I’m getting my cash in advance. Now please listen to me,” said Constance very seriously, an appealing look in her expressive eyes. “You have done a great deal for me in arranging this booth so attractively, and encouraging me in every way. In addition to that you have ‘taken stock,’ as you call it, in the venture. Very well, I call it simply advancing capital. Now I shall never feel at ease until that sum is paid off, and one way for me to do it is to let you have all the candy you want. No—wait a minute; I haven’t finished,” as Mr. Porter raised his hand in protest. “If you will promise to come to the booth for all the candy you want, I will charge you just the same for it as I charge the others, but it must go toward canceling my obligation so far as money can cancel it. Now, please, say yes, and make my opening day a very happy one for me. Otherwise I shall have to refuse to let you have any candy until I have paid back the hundred dollars. Isn’t that right and fair, Mammy?” she asked, turning to look into the kind old face beside her.
“Hits jist de fa’r an’ squar’ livin’ truf. Hit suah is, Massa Potah. Ain’ no gittin’ roun’ dat. We-all cyant tek no mo’ ’vestments ’dout we gibs somepin fer ter mak hit right. Miss Constance, know what she a-sayin’.”
The gay bandanna nodded vigorously to emphasize this statement.
Mr. Porter looked at them for a moment, and then broke into a hearty laugh.