"Then I won't take them—nary an apple! You bring in those apples and I'll pay you just the same price you ask everybody else."
Her attention was attracted by a black cat moving along the alley fence with noble unconcern. Phil stepped out upon the brick walk, drew back her arm and threw the apple. It struck the fence immediately beneath the cat, which vanished on the alley side.
"Good shot. You almost got him!"
"Almost nothing!" said Phil scornfully. "You didn't suppose I wanted to hit the wretch, did you? He's an old pal of mine and would be lonesome if I didn't scare him to death occasionally."
Holton brought the apples in a sack which he emptied into a basket Phil found for the purpose. His absence had been prolonged. To measure half a bushel of apples is not ordinarily a serious matter, but in this instance the vendor chose fastidiously. The fruit that went into the sack was beyond question the best in the wagon.
"How much?" asked Phil, surveying her purchase, purse in hand.
"Oh, about a quarter."
She handed him a fifty cent piece.
"Please don't try that again—not here! I've been telephoning the grocery and apples about like those are a dollar a bushel. Good-morning!"
"Good-morning, Miss Kirkwood."