"Then let's get to work on the customer part of your visit first," she said at once; "the other can wait. Now here I have a nice plate. You can hang it in your office on the wall. You see it's already wired. It might pass for old Worcester if you don't let in too much light. But there, you never have your windows washed, do you? Then I have," she hurried on, turning to other articles, "this. This is a shell—at least I suppose it is," she added naïvely. "And this is a Toby jug; and this is a pipe-rack; this is for matches; this is for a whisk brush; and these two vases, they're real fine. Look at them. Did you ever see such colors? No, and I don't suppose anybody else ever did." She laughed, and Dave joined in her laugh.
But her laugh suddenly died out. The man heard a woman, only a few feet away, mention Jim Truscott's name, and he knew that Betty had heard it too. He knew that her smiling chatter, which had seemed so gay, so irresponsible, had all been pretense, a pretense which had suddenly been swept aside at the mere mention of Jim's name. At that moment he felt he could have taken the man up in his two strong hands and strangled him. However, he allowed his feelings no display, but at once took up the challenge of the saleswoman.
"Say, Betty, there's just one thing in the world I'm crazy about: it's bits of pots and things such as you've got on your stall. It seems like fate you should be running this stall. Now just get right to it, and fetch out some tickets—a heap of 'em—and write 'sold' on 'em, and dump 'em on all you like. How much for the lot?"
"What do you mean, Dave?" the girl cried, her eyes wide and questioning.
"How much? I don't want anybody else buying those things," Dave said seriously. "I want 'em all."
Betty's eyes softened almost to tears.
"I can't let you do it, Dave," she said gently. "Not all. Some."
But the man was not to be turned from his purpose.
"I want 'em all," he said doggedly. "Here. Here's two hundred dollars. That'll cover it." He laid four bills of fifty dollars each on the stall. "There," he added, "you can sell 'em over again if any of the boys want to buy."
Betty was not sure which she wanted to do, cry or laugh. However, she finally decided on the latter course. Dave's simple contradiction was quite too much for her.