“Thank ye,” he said apologetically, handing her the pencils.
“Accidents will happen,” she remarked cheerfully. “If they didn’t, there would be mighty little happening. I say, there’s only eleven pencils here.”
“The ither rolled ablow the counter. It doesna matter,” he said.
“Oh, but that won’t do. See, I’ll give you another now, and get the one under the counter some day—next stock-taking, maybe.” She began to make a parcel, then halted in the operation. “Are you sure there’s nothing else that I can show you to-day, sir?”
Macgregor didn’t want to go just yet, so he appeared to be thinking deeply.
“Essay paper—notebooks,” she murmured; “notepaper—envelopes—indiarubber——”
“Injinrubber,” said Macgregor. (He would give it to Jimsie.)
She turned and whipped a box from a shelf. “Do you prefer the red or the white—species?” she enquired, and felt glad she hadn’t said “sort.”
“Oh, I’m no heedin’ which,” he replied generously, with a bare glance at the specimens laid out for his inspection.
“All the same price—one penny per cake. The red is more flexible.” By way of exhibiting its quality, she took the oblong lengthwise between her finger and thumb and squeezed. To her dismay it sprang from her grip and struck her customer on the chin.