“Why not? It don't come out of my pocket. The firm expects me to hand out little keepsakes like that. I've been plantin' 'em with the girls all the way down.”
“No, thank you,” she replied.
Mr. Kron, having finished his business as representative of Messrs. Bernstein, Goldberg and Baun, attempted a stroke of his own.
“Say,” he said, “I've got a little spare time on my hands this evenin'; I shan't make the next town until tomorrow. There's a new movie theater just opened over to Orham. They tell me it's all to the mustard. I can hire a rig here and you and me might drive over tonight and take it in. What do you say, Kid?”
“No, thank you,” said Mary-'Gusta again.
“But—”
“No, thank you. Good day.”
She turned away to enter the order she had just given in a book on the desk. Mr. Kron tried again, but she did not appear to hear him. He grinned, observed “Oh, very well!” and, with a wink at Mr. Keith, went out, a suitcase in each hand.
Keith rose from the chair and, walking over to the counter, requested to be supplied with the tobacco he had come to buy. Mary-'Gusta gave it to him. Her cheeks were red and Keith was surprised to notice that she looked almost as if she would like to cry. He guessed the reason.
“That young man will get himself thoroughly kicked some day,” he observed; “I'm not sure that I oughtn't to have done it myself just now. He annoyed you, I'm afraid.”