The General listened in so interested a manner that Pat added, "It's because the storemen can get all the creditin' they want to do and more, too, but them as steps up with the cash, them's the ones they're after."
"And who taught you this, Pat?"
"Sure and my mother told me part of it, and part of it I just picked up. But I'll be goin' now, or Mrs. Brady will think I'm never comin'. She'll be teachin' me to-day to make a fine puddin' for your dinner."
The first store Pat went into had already several customers. As he entered, the clerks saw a tall boy wearing a blouse shirt and cottonade trousers, and having on his head a broad-brimmed straw hat well set back. And they seemed not at all interested in him. The basket on his arm was also against him. "Some greeny that wants a nickel's worth of beans, I suppose," said one.
But if the clerks seemed to make little of Pat, Pat, for his part, regarded them with indifference. The sight of the General making gravy had changed the boy's whole outlook; and he had come to feel that whoever concerned himself with Pat O'Callaghan's business was out of his province. Pat was growing independent.
Other customers came in and were waited upon out of their turn while Pat was left unnoticed.
"That's no way to do business," he thought, "but if they can stand it, I can." And he looked about him with a critical air. He was not going off in a huff, and perhaps missing the chance of buying to advantage for the General. At last a clerk drew near—a smallish, dapper young fellow of about twenty.
"I'll be lookin' at raisins," said Pat.
"How many'll you have?" asked the clerk, stepping down the store on the inside of the counter, while Pat followed on the outside.
"I said I'd be lookin' at 'em," answered Pat. "I don't want none of 'em if they don't suit."