"Oh, all right," said the salesman; "here, Perkins," and beckoning to a tall young man, who appeared to Ben very much dressed up, he turned the boy over to him, and went off.
"Well, what do you want?" asked Mr. Perkins, leisurely surveying Ben's sturdy figure from his greater height.
"A red woollen tippet, I think," said Ben.
"A red woollen tippet!" repeated the salesman, nearly falling backward. "Oh, we haven't got one in the store!"
"Haven't you?" asked Ben, very much disappointed, for he had set his heart on seeing that the boy who was to have those good warm clothes should have a red woollen tippet to tie around his throat, and perhaps go over his cap, and down around his ears, if it was very cold. Anyway, the ends were to tuck in the jacket. Ben knew just exactly how that tippet was to look when it was all fixed, ready for a sharp, cold, snowy day.
"Well, I can suit you," said the salesman, noting the disappointed tone; "we've got silk scarfs, nice ones, all—"
"Oh, I don't want a silk scarf," said Ben, quickly.
"Some of them are plaid; you don't know how fine they are. This way," and he stepped off.
But as Ben stood quite still, there was nothing for the salesman to do but to come back, which he did, quite discomfited.
"Have you got any caps?" asked Ben, leaving the red tippet out of the question as an impossibility in this shop.