Gardiner made a rapid calculation. “Eight-and-a-half times thirty—is two-fifty-five. And I did her two dollars on the coat. There’s fifty-five cents coming to me yet.”
“What shall I do with the bad eggs, Mr. Gardiner?” asked the clerk.
“Put them under the counter and sell them to the restaurants,” were the instructions.
“That last barrel of vinegar seems to be very strong,” remarked Gardiner one day.
“I should say it is,” Burton agreed. “I took down a quart for Mrs. Goode yesterday, and she said it was the strongest she had ever bought since she came West.”
No more was said on the subject, but in the afternoon Burton, who was standing at the front of the store dreamily surveying the wintry landscape, saw his employer tip the vinegar barrel on end, knock out the faucet, substitute a funnel, and pour in two pails of water. At that moment the merry sound of sleigh bells was heard, and a cutter and dashing team swung down the street. Burton caught a hurried glimpse as they passed. It was Mr. Grant and Miss Vane.
And then, by some strange law of telepathy or suggestion, the words went throbbing through his brain:
“Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
As the swift seasons roll——”
The door opened, and with a smothered execration the young man turned to wait on a lady who was quite sure that in the city three spools were sold for ten cents.