Elmore looked everywhere except in the right direction among the carts. If you had been “to the Collegiate,” relatives among the carts selling squashes were embarrassing.
“There,” his companion indicated.
“It’s Mother,” replied Mr Crow, with elaborate unconcern; “but I don’t suppose she’s in anything of a hurry. I’ll just go along with you far’s the post-office.” He kept his glance carefully from the spot at which he was signalled, and a hint of copper colour crawled up the back of his neck.
“Oh, but she is. Come along, Elmore; I can go that way.”
“It’ll be longer for you.”
“Not a bit.” Lorne cast a shrewd glance at his companion. “And as we’re passing, you might just introduce me to your mother; see?”
“She won’t expect it, Lorne.”
“That’s all right, my son. She won’t refuse to meet a friend of yours.” He led the way as he spoke to the point of vantage occupied by Mrs Crow, followed, with plain reluctance, by her son. She was a frail-looking old woman, with a knitted shawl pinned tightly across her chest, and her bonnet, in the course of commercial activity, pushed so far back as to be almost falling off.
“You might smarten yourself with that change, Elmore,” she addressed him, ignoring his companion. “There’s folks coming back for it. Two-dollar bill, wa’n’t it? Fifty cents—seventy-five—dollar’n a half. That’s a Yankee dime, an’ you kin march straight back with it. They don’t pass but for nine cents, as you’re old enough to know. Keep twenty-five cents for your dinner—you’ll get most for the money at the Barker House—an’ bring me back another quarter. Better go an’ get your victuals now—it’s gone twelve—while they’re hot.”
Elmore took his instructions without visible demur; and then, as Lorne had not seen fit to detach himself, performed the ceremony of introduction. As he performed it he drew one foot back and bowed himself, which seemed obscurely to facilitate it. The suspicion faded out of Mrs Crow’s tired old sharp eyes under the formula, and she said she was pleased to make our friend’s acquaintance.