"They say it's real pretty country out round Frederick. I've never been out of Baltimore, 'cept to go down the bay on excursions—Betterton and Love Point, and places like that. It makes a grand sail in hot weather."
She handed him the package and picked up the two bills he had laid down on the counter. There was plainly no reason for his further lingering. But he had an artful idea.
"Look here—maybe I ought to get Aunt Dolcey a white apron, too. Maybe she won't want the gingham ones at all."
The girl looked surprised at such extravagance.
"But if she doesn't you can bring 'em back when you come to Baltimore again, and we'd exchange 'em," she argued mildly.
"No, I better get a white one now. She puts on a white apron evenings," he added craftily.
A box of white aprons was lifted from the shelf and a choice made, but even that transaction could not last forever, as Wesley Dean was desperately aware.
"Look here, are you Miss Tolman?" he burst out. "I saw the name outside on the window."
"Mercy, no! Miss Tolman's a kind of cousin of mine. She's fifty-two, and she can't hardly get through that door there."
He disregarded the description, for the second bundle was being tied up fast. He had never seen any one tie so fast, he thought.