And so was Asaph. When Mrs. Crankshaw had moved off Asaph hung about awkwardly. Finally he put the backs of his knuckles on the counter and leaned across to murmur:
"Say, Debby, I was telling Jim Crawford yesterday that you made more sales than any other clerk in the shop this last month."
"Oh, really, did I?" Deborah gasped, her eyes snapping like electric sparks. They seemed to jolt Asaph; he fell back a little. Then he leaned closer.
"Crawford said he'd like to have you in his store. I told him you were a fixture here. Don't you leave me, Debby. You won't, will you?"
"Why, Asaph!" she cried.
"Leastways, you'll let me know any offer you get before you take it. You can promise me that, can't you?"
"Of course I will, but– Well, I never!"
This last was true. She never had known till now that superlative rapture of a woman, to have one man trying to take her away from another. Debby had not known it even as a little girl, for if two boys claimed the same dance–which had happened rarely enough–they did not wrangle and fight, but each yielded to the other with a courtesy that was odious.
On her way home Deborah began to doubt the possibility of it all. Asaph had been talking about somebody else, or he had been joking–he was such a terrible fellow to cook up things and fool people! Or else Jim Crawford was just making fun of Asaph. She would not tell her mother this news.
That night, as she was washing the dishes after her late supper, the door-bell burred.