Their sole visitor for the next hour was Phil Jennings, the stage-driver, who stopped in for the mail. “Well, well, what's all this about! Are you trying to outshine the stores in town, Miss Ellie? And how pretty you look this morning.”
“Yes, Mr. Jennings. We're going to have a fine store here by this time next year. Uncle's thinking of enlarging it and putting in an up-to-date stock. On your way down, you might pass the word along that our summer goods are in and that I have some beautiful pieces here for dresses, just as good as can be bought in Tucson or Phœnix. It's easier than sending away to Chicago.”
“Well, I sure will, Miss Ellie. Mother was growling the other day because she would have to go to Monmouth to buy ginghams for the kids.”
“Please tell her that next week I'm expecting some ready-made clothes for children, and it will pay her to come up and see them.”
“I'll tell her,” said Phil Jennings, as he cracked his whip and started off. All he could talk about that day was “that clever little girl of Job Lansing's” who was going to make a real store at the summit and keep the mountain trade where it belonged.
“Where are you, Uncle?” called Ellie, as she came back into the store.
“I'm hiding!” said Job. “Ashamed to be seen. Enlarge the store! It's more than likely I'll have to mortgage it. And you drumming up trade that way. It isn't ladylike.”
“Well, it simply has to be done. He'll give us some good advertising down the road to-day. I wish there was some one I could send down the creek. I wonder if you couldn't ride down, yourself.”
But Job Lansing pretended not to hear.
Ellie did not feel as brave as her words indicated. She knew that their trade from day to day came from the Indian settlement, and looked disconsolately out of the window. But in a moment she gave an exclamation of joy and found herself shaking her uncle's arm. “Here they come, Uncle, dear! Here they come!”