“Dear me! Isn't that rather expensive?”
“It is. Very!” said the Harvester. “So expensive that most people don't think of taking over a dozen. They are large and very rich, so they go a long way.”
“I suppose you have to spend a great deal of time hunting them? It does seem expensive, but they are fresh, and the boys are so fond of them. I'm not often extravagant, I'll just take the lot. Sarah, bring a pan.”
Again the Harvester stood and watched an entire basket counted over and carried away, and he felt the robber he had been called as he took the money.
At the next house he had learned a lesson. He carpeted a basket with leaves and counted out a dozen and a half into it, leaving the remainder in the wagon. Three blocks on one side of the street exhausted his store and he was showered with orders. He had not seen any one that even resembled a dark-eyed girl. As he came from the last house a big, red motor shot past and then suddenly slowed and backed beside his wagon.
“What in the name of sense are you doing?” demanded Doctor Carey.
“Invading the residence district of Onabasha,” said the Harvester. “Madam, would you like some nice, fresh, country mushrooms? I guarantee that there are no poisonous ones among them, and they were gathered this morning. Considering their rarity and the difficult work of collecting, they are exceedingly low at my price. I am offering these for five dollars a dozen, madam, and for mercy sake don't take them or I'll have no excuse to go to the next house.”
The doctor stared, then understood, and began to laugh. When at last he could speak he said, “David, I'll bet you started with three bushels and began at the head of this street, and they are all gone.”
“Put up a good one!” said the Harvester. “You win. The first house I tried they ordered me to the back door, took a market basket full away from me by force, tried to buy the load, and I didn't see any one save a maid.”
The doctor lay on the steering gear and faintly groaned.