CHAPTER XXI
A POINT OF HONOR
Florence Hunter sat in her wagon in front of the grocery store at Graham's Bluff waiting until the man who kept it should bring out various goods she had ordered. Though a fresh breeze swept the surrounding prairie the little town was very hot, and it looked singularly unattractive with the dust blowing through its one unpaved street. In one place a gaily striped shade, which flapped and fluttered in the wind, had been stretched above the window of an ambitious store; but with this exception the unlovely wooden buildings boldly fronted the weather, with the sun-glare on their thin, rent boarding and the roofing shingles crackling overhead, as they had done when they had borne the scourge of snow-laden gales and the almost Arctic frost. They were square and squat, as destitute, most of them, of paint as they were of any attempt at adornment; and in hot weather the newer ones were permeated with a pungent, resinous smell.
Where Florence sat, however, the odors that flowed out of the store were more diffuse, for the fragrance of perspiring cheese was mingled with that of pork which had gained flavor and lost its stiffness in the heat, and the aroma of what was sold as coffee at Graham's Bluff. Florence, indeed, had been glad to escape from the store, which resembled an oven with savory cooking going on, though after all it was not a great deal better in the wagon. The dust was beginning to gather in the folds of her dainty dress, the wind plucked at her veil, and the fierce sun smote her face.
On the whole, she was displeased with things in general and inclined to regret that she had driven into the settlement, which she had done in a fit of compunction. Hitherto she had contented herself with sending the storekeeper an order for goods to be supplied, without any attempt to investigate his charges, but now, with Elcot's harvest ruined it had appeared her duty to consider carefully the subject of housekeeping accounts. She rather resented the fact that her first experiment had proved unpleasant, for she had shrunk from the sight of the slabs of half-melted pork flung down for her inspection, and having hitherto shopped only in England and eastern Canada she had found the naïve abruptness of the western storekeeper somewhat hard on her temper. Retail dealers in the prairie settlements seldom defer to their customers. If the latter do not like their goods or charges they are generally favored with a hint that they would better go somewhere else, and there is an end of the matter. It really did not look as if much encouragement was held out to those who aspired to cultivate the domestic virtues. At length the storekeeper appeared with several large packages.
"You want to cover this one up; it's the butter," he cautioned. "Guess you're going to have some trouble in keeping it in the wagon if the sun gets on to it. Better bring a big can next time, same as your hired man does."
The warning was justified, because when the inexperienced customer brings nothing to put it in, butter is usually retailed in light baskets made of wood, in spite of the fact that it is addicted to running out of them in the heat of the day. The man next deposited a heavy cotton bag in the wagon, and while a thin cloud of flour which followed its fall descended upon Florence he laid his hands on the wheel and looked at her confidentially.
"I guess if your husband meant to let up on that creamery scheme you would have heard of it," he suggested.
"Yes," replied Florence; "I don't think he has any intention of doing so."
The man made a sign of assent.
"That's just what I was telling the boys last night. There were two or three of them from Traverse staying at the hotel, and when we got to talking about the hail they allowed that he'd have to cut the creamery plan out. I said that when Elcot Hunter took a thing up he stayed with it until he put it through."