"I know you do your own weaving."
"Land, yes!"
Jeff grinned ruefully. For the first time since its founding, Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd., had reached a blind end. "Something for Everyone," was one of its numerous slogans. But he did not have anything for Granny Wilson and he was honest about it.
"Granny, I don't believe I can offer you a thing."
"Oh, come now! You must have somethin'!"
"But I haven't."
"Now, Jeff, you jest open that pack and give me a look for myself."
"I'll do that much."
Jeff laid his pack on the table and opened every compartment. Granny reached for a skein of gray yarn. She tested it with her fingers, murmured, "Poorly, poorly," and handed it back. Granny ignored the bright ribbons, had no time whatever for the knickknacks, lingered over a packet of needles, and her eyes were accusing when she gave them back.
"Young man, you are a poor shakes of a peddler."