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ÔAnd now, Mr. Pringle, what can I do for you, sir?Õ
Mr. Ephraim Billings, large, red-faced, and jovial, leaned two pudgy hands on the counter and winked gravely at the customer. The customer ignored the wink and replied with impressive dignity.
ÔHalf a pound of leese and a dozen chemons, please.Õ
ÔHalf a pound oÕ what?Õ
ÔHalf a pound of cheese, Mr. Eph,Õ said the boy patiently.
ÔOh! Well, why in tarnation didnÕt you say so?Õ
ÔDidnÕt I?Õ
ÔYou know pesky well you didnÕt! You said half a chound of peese andÑÕ
ÔAnd a chozen demons,Õ added Pud helpfully.
ÔSay!Õ Mr. Billings glared ferociously. ÔWhat is it you do want, consarn you?Õ
ÔCheese and lemons, please. Half of each. Ma said send her the same kind of cheese she had the last time; HerkÑHerkÑÕ
ÔHerkimer County, eh? All right, son. You Egbert! Get me half a chosÑhalf a dozen lemons outside. Consarn you, Pud, youÕve got me all twisted!Õ
Pud Pringle grinned. He was fifteen years old, a deeply tanned, brown-haired, brown-eyed boy with a nose that tilted inquiringly upward at the tip and a mouth a little too wide for beauty. Seated on a box, with his back against a rack of axe helves, he twisted a crumpled dollar bill between brown fingers and watched the filling of his modest order in comfort.
ÔHowÕs your folks, Pud?Õ asked the grocer as he wrapped up the wedge of cheese. ÔMa well?Õ
ÔYes, sir.Õ
ÔSaw your pa this morning, so I donÕt need to ask about him, I guess. WhereÕs that side-partner of yours, Tim Daley? DonÕt look natural for you to be alone.Õ
ÔOh, heÕs somewhere around,Õ replied Pud indifferently.
ÔHuh! Been and had a quarrel, have you?Õ
Pud chose to ignore the question. Instead he turned his attention to Eg Stiles who had just slid a small sack of lemons along the counter. Egbert was a tall, thin, sour-looking youth of sixteen. Pud didnÕt like Eg, and Eg didnÕt like Pud. For that matter, Eg didnÕt like any one, it seemed. He was a born pessimist, and two summers under the influence of Mr. Eph BillingsÕs joviality had failed to sweeten the vinegar of his natural disposition.
ÔHow many rotten ones you got in there, Eg?Õ asked Pud.
ÔNone,Õ answered the clerk, scowling.
Pud slipped off the box and emptied the lemons on the counter. Mr. Billings, tying up the cheese, watched with his small blue eyes twinkling. Pud gravely set aside two of the six lemons.
ÔYouÕd better hustle me two more, Eg,Õ he announced. ÔI donÕt like Õem with green whiskers.Õ
ÔI gave them to you as they came,Õ grumbled Egbert. ÔThose two are all right if you use them quick.Õ
Mr. Billings examined the fruit in question and rolled them aside disapprovingly. ÔGet a couple more, Egbert,Õ he directed. ÔIÕve told you not to sell soft fruit, ainÕt I? That boyÕs getting meaner every day he lives,Õ the grocer added as Egbert returned protestingly to the sidewalk. ÔThese lemons ainÕt a mite sourer than what he is! LetÕs see; twenty-eight for cheese and twenty for lemons; forty-eight cents.Õ He took PudÕs dollar bill and punched the keys of the cash register. ÔI suppose this is genuine, Pud? DidnÕt make it yourself, did you?Õ
ÔMake what, sir?Õ
ÔThis dollar. ThereÕs been some queer money floating around here lately. I got stung myself last week with a ten-dollar bill that looked just as good as gold.Õ He pushed PudÕs change across the counter. ÔTwo is fifty and fiftyÕs one dollar. Thank you.Õ
ÔSay, do you mean counterfeit money?Õ asked Pud eagerly. ÔGee, Mr. Eph, I never saw any. Got any now? WhatÕs it look like?Õ
ÔNever saw any, eh?Õ Mr. Billings opened the drawer again and laid a crisp ten-dollar note in PudÕs hand. ÔWell, son, it looks just like that.Õ
Pud examined the bill carefully, turned it over, felt of it and frowned perplexedly. ÔGee, it looks all right, doesnÕt it?Õ he said. ÔGot silk threads in it and everything!Õ
