“Well, I swow!” remarked Mr. Newton Shull, along in the later afternoon; “I didn’t expect we’d make our salt to-day, with Marsena away pretty near the whole forenoon, and all the folks down to the depot, and here it turns out way the best day we’ve had yet. Actually had to send people away!”
“Guess that didn’t worry him much,” commented the boy, from where he sat on the work-bench swinging his legs in idleness.
Mr. Shull nodded his head suggestively. “No, I dare say not,” he said. “I kind o’ begrudge not bein’ an operator myself, when such setters as that come in. She must have been up there a full two hours—them two all by themselves—and the countrymen loafin’ around out in the reception-room there, stompin’ their feet and grindin’ their teeth, jest tired to death o’ waitin’. It went agin my grain to tell them last two lots they’d have to come some other day; but—I dunno—perhaps it’s jest as well. They’ll go and tell it around that we’ve got more’n we can do—and that’s good for business. But, all the same, it seemed to me as if he took considerable more time than was really needful. He can turn out four farmers in fifteen minutes, if he puts on a spurt; and here he was a full two hours, and only five pictures of her to show for it.”
“Six,” said the boy.
“Yes, so it was—countin’ the one with her hair let down,” Mr. Shull admitted. “I dunno whether that one oughtn’t to be a little extry. I thought o’ tellin’ her that it would be, on account of so much hair consumin’ more chemicals; but—I dunno—somehow—she sort o’ looked as if she knew better. Did you ever notice them eyes o’ hern, how they look as if they could see straight through you, and out on the other side?”
The boy shook his head. “I don’t bother my head about women,” he said. “Got somethin’ better to do.”
“Guess that’s a pretty good plan too,” mused Mr. Shull. “Somehow you can’t seem to make ’em out at all. Now, I’ve been around a good deal, and yet somehow I don’t feel as if I knew much about women. I’m bound to say, though,” he added upon reflection, “they know considerable about me.”
“I suppose the first thing we know now,” remarked the boy, impatiently changing the subject, “McClellan ’ll be in Richmond. They say it’s liable to happen now any day.”
Newton Shull was but a lukewarm patriot. “They needn’t hurry on my account,” he said. “It would be kind o’ mean to have the whole thing fizzle out now, jest when the picture business has begun to amount to something. Why, we must have took in up’ards of $11 to-day—frames and all—and two years ago we’d ’a’ been lucky to get in $3. Let’s see: there’s two fifties and five thirty-fives, that’s $2.75, and the Dutch boy with the drum, that’s $3.40, counting the mat, and then there’s Miss Parmalee—four daguerreotypes, and two negatives, and small frames for each, and two large frames for crayons she’s going to do herself, and cord and nails—I suppose she’ll think them ought to be thrown in—”
“What! didn’t you make her pay in advance?” asked the boy. “I thought everybody had to.”