While Guy was thinking about it, they arrived within sight of his father’s dry-goods store.
“Now, then,” said Bob, giving him an encouraging slap on the back, “keep a stiff upper lip, and remember that everything depends upon you. Do your part faithfully, and I’ll do mine.”
With a beating heart Guy walked into the store, and, stopping before the counter, drew a small package from his pocket. He tried to look unconcerned, but he trembled violently, and his face was white with excitement and apprehension.
The clerk who stepped up to attend to his wants stared at him in astonishment.
“What’s the matter, Guy?” he inquired.
“Nothing—nothing whatever, Mr. Fellows. What made you ask?”
“Why, you look as though you had been sick for a week. And see how your hand shakes.”
“Well, I don’t feel remarkably lively for some cause or other, that’s a fact,” returned Guy. “Mother sent me down here to see if you could match this piece of silk,” he continued, unfolding the package and displaying its contents.
“No, I cannot,” answered the clerk, and Guy knew very well what he was going to say before the words left his lips. “I told Mrs. Harris the last time she was in that our new stock would not arrive before Monday.”
“Mother is in a great hurry and can’t wait a day longer. Can’t you send out to some other store?”