She looked at me still more intently. I was conscious of the salesman's regard also. My tone, I am sure, was anything but gracious, and I imagine I appeared as disgusted and embarrassed as I felt. She turned away.
“I think I will choose this one,” she said, addressing the clerk. “You may give me five yards. Oh, yes; and I may as well take the same amount of the other. You may wrap it for me.”
“Yes, miss, yes. Thank you, miss. Is there anything else?”
She hesitated. Then, after another sidelong glance at me, she said: “Yes, I believe there is. I wish to see some buttons, some braid, and—oh, ever so many things. Please show them to me.”
“Yes, miss, certainly. This way, if you please.”
She turned to me.
“Will you assist in the selection, Uncle Hosea?” she inquired, with suspicious sweetness. “I am sure your opinion will be invaluable. No? Then I must ask you to wait.”
And wait I did, for I could do nothing else. That draper's shop was not the place for a scene, with a half-dozen clerks to enjoy it. I waited, fuming, while she wandered about, taking a great deal of time, and lingering over each purchase in a maddening manner. At last she seemed able to think of no more possibilities and strolled to where I was standing, followed by the salesman, whose hands were full.
“You may wrap these with the others,” she said. “I have my trap here and will take them with me. The trap is here, isn't it—er—Uncle Hosea?”
“It is just above here,” I answered, sulkily. “But—”