Two or three early, unwholesome-looking apples and a jar of ginger cakes made up the list of eatables, and his decision was quickly made.
“How many of them cakes will you sell for five cents?” he asked timidly of the slovenly woman who was embroidering an odd green flower on a small square of soiled and faded red silk.
She looked at him listlessly, and then gazed at the cakes meditatively.
“I don’t know the price of them. This shop isn’t mine; I’m tendin’ it for a friend.”
“Then you can’t sell things?” and Seth turned to go, fearing lest he had already loitered too long.
“Oh, dear, yes, that’s what I’m here for; but I never had a customer for cakes, an’ to tell the truth I don’t believe one of ’em has been sold for a month. Do you know what they are worth?”
“The bakers sell a doughnut as big as three of them for a cent, an’ throw in an extra one if they’re stale.”
The lady deposited her embroidery on a sheet of brown paper which covered one end of the counter, and surveyed the cakes.
“It seems to me that a cent for three of them would be a fair price,” she said at length, after having broken one in order to gain some idea of its age.
“Have you got anything else to eat?”