“Sam's writing isn't exactly print,” he observed, “but I can guess at it. Let's see—a pound of butter. Where's the butter department of this Bon Marche, Edna?”
Edna, after another convulsion, declared she didn't know.
“No doubt Miss—er—Mary Jane knows,” went on her companion. “Why, yes, of course she does. Right there, behind the oilskin jacket. Remove jacket, open door—behold, the icebox and the butter. Neat, compact, and convenient. One pound only, Elizabeth Eliza. Thank you.”
“Her name isn't Elizabeth Eliza,” giggled Miss Keith. “Isn't he awful, Mary-'Gusta! You mustn't mind him.”
“I don't,” said Mary-'Gusta, promptly. “What else do you want?”
Crawford consulted the list. “The next item,” he said, “appears to be a—er—certain kind of ham. I blush to mention it, but I must. It is deviled ham. Have you that kind of ham, Mary-'Gusta?”
Mary-'Gusta took the can of deviled ham from the shelf. Crawford shook his head.
“To think that one so young should be so familiar with ham of that kind!” he said. “She didn't speak its name, though. Suppose I had asked you what kind of ham you had, Miss—er—'Gusta how would you have got around it?”
Mary-'Gusta did not answer. She was very angry, but she was determined that her tormentor should not know it.
“A young lady of few words,” commented Mr. Smith. “Next item appears to be six boxes of marshmallows. Where is the marshmallow department, Mary Jane?”