“Two pounds, ma’am.”
Nancy was the most extravagant of all the Motor Maids. She often said to her friends when they scolded her for her lavishness:
“Well, after all, what would five dollars mean to me when I am dead and gone? If I save this money now, would it do me any good, when I am laid away?”
“Laid away, you goose,” Billie would say; “you’re not to be laid away for another seventy years, yet!”
“Well, then, why save five dollars for seventy years?” the incorrigible girl would answer.
Moreover, Nancy had the collecting habit inherited from her forefathers, sea captains all of them, and the old home in West Haven was filled with curios brought back on homeward voyages. But two pounds was too steep even for extravagant Nancy.
“Why,” she exclaimed innocently, “I haven’t very much more than that to spend on gifts to take home. I certainly wouldn’t put all my money into a present for myself. And this box is to be my very own, if I get it. My jewel case,” she added with much unction.
“One pound, ten, then, ma’am.”
“No, no. That’s entirely too much. Why, it’s nothing but a little wooden box lined with faded satin. It’s not even very antique. I like it because I like little things.”
Billie opened her eyes in great admiration over Nancy’s trading talent, and it ended by her getting the box for less than a pound. She produced the money triumphantly from her little purse, while the old man, smiling, did the chalet up in tissue paper. It was plain that he was well pleased with the sale. The girls suspected that he did not make many.