“Will you kindly step this way?” came the polite invitation.
Macgregor proceeded to the counter and bumped his knee against the chair that stood there.
“Useful or ornamental?”
“I—I dinna ken,” he answered between his teeth.
“I’ll break that chair’s neck for it some day!” cried Christina, her natural sympathy for suffering getting the better of her commercial instincts. Then she coughed in her best style. “Do you think the young lady would like something to wear?”
“I dinna ken, I’m sure.” Macgregor pushed back his cap and scratched his head. “Let’s see what ye’ve got for wearin’ an’—an’ no’ for wearin’.”
Christina, too, nearly scratched her head. She was striving to think where she could lay hands on articles for which she could reasonably charge half-a-crown.
Without very noticeable delay she turned to a drawer, and presently displayed a small green oblong box. She opened it.
“This is a nice fountain-pen,” she explained. “Its price has been reduced——”
“Aw, I’m no’ heedin’ aboot reduced things, thank ye a’ the same.”