“It’s as good as sold to the Rev. Mr. McTavish,” she explained. Her sole foundation for the statement lay in the fact that the Rev. Mr. McTavish was to call for a small parcel of stationery about six o’clock. At the same time she remembered her duty to her employer. “But we have other inkpots in profusion,” she declared.
The limit of his endurance was reached. “Oh,” he stammered, “I wish ye wudna speak to me like that.”
“Like what?”
“That fancy way—that genteel English.”
The words might have angered her, but not the voice. She drew a quick breath and said:
“Are ye a frien’ or a customer?”
“Ye—ye ken fine what I want to be,” he answered, sadly.
Now she was sure that she liked him.
“Well,” she said, slowly, “suppose ye buy a ha’penny penholder—jist for the sake o’ appearances—an’ then”—quickly—“we’ll drop business.” And she refused to sell him a penny one, and, indeed, anything else in the shop that afternoon.
It must be recorded, however, that an hour or so later she induced the Rev. Mr. McTavish to buy the ugly inkpot.