“Phew!” breathed Chub, as he set the bag of onions down. “She has a horrid disposition, hasn’t she?”
“Maybe,” said Harry, uneasily, “we ought to have let her have them. We wouldn’t want Mrs. Peel to lose a customer, would we?”
“The loss of that sort of a customer wouldn’t hurt much,” returned Chub. “Too bad we couldn’t make a sale, though. That cash drawer looks mighty empty. Hello! there goes an automobile. Did you see it?”
“Yes. Do you—do you suppose she’ll send her husband over?”
“Can’t say,” answered Chub, carelessly.
“But he might be angry and make trouble.”
“Let him try it,” said Chub, grimly. “I’ll take care of him if he tries to make a fuss.”
At that moment a form appeared at the door.
“Maybe it’s Mr. Benson,” muttered Chub, as he strolled to meet him.