Mary-’Gusta did not answer.  She was very angry, but she was determined that her tormentor should not know it.

“A young lady of few words,” commented Mr. Smith.  “Next item appears to be six boxes of marshmallows.  Where is the marshmallow department, Mary Jane?”

Mary-’Gusta hesitated.  The tin boxes of marshmallows were on the shelf behind the counter under the candy case.  But there was a fresh assortment in an unopened packing box in the back room, a box which had just come from the wholesale confectioner’s in Boston.  Her Uncle Zoeth had expressed a fear that those beneath the counter were rather stale.

Miss Keith fidgeted.  “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed.  “This is so slow.  I know Sam and the rest won’t wait for us at the clam-man’s much longer.”

Her companion whistled.  “Is the word ‘hurry’ in the South Harniss dictionary, Edna?” he inquired.  “How about it, Mary Jane?”

Mary-’Gusta was determined not to hurry.  This superior young man wished her to do so and that was reason sufficient for delay.

Young Smith sighed resignedly.  “Edna,” he said, “suppose we sit down.  The word is not in the dictionary.”

There was but one chair, except those behind the counters, in the store.  Miss Keith took that with an exclamation of impatience.  Crawford Smith, whistling a mournful dirge, sauntered to the end of the counter and sat down upon a nail keg.

Mary-’Gusta also uttered an exclamation.  It is well to look before one leaps, also, occasionally, before one sits.  That keg had, spread across its top, a sheet of the fresh and very sticky fly paper.  Before she could have protested, even if she had wished to do so, the young gentleman’s spotless white flannels and the fly paper came in contact, close and clinging contact.

Mary-’Gusta put a hand to her mouth.  Crawford looked at her, caught the direction of her look, and looked in that direction himself.  His whistle stopped in the middle of a note and his face immediately became a match for his socks and tie, a beautiful rich crimson, the chosen color of his University.

Miss Keith, from her seat by the door, could not see beyond the end of the counter.  Consequently she was unaware of the mishap to the white flannels.  But Mary-’Gusta saw and knew; also she could see that Mr. Smith knew.

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Edna, impatiently.  “We are dreadfully late now.  We’ll never get there on time.  Sam won’t wait for us; I know he won’t.  Where are those marshmallows?  Can’t you please hurry, Mary-’Gusta?”

Mary-’Gusta’s eyes were sparkling.  Her manner was provokingly deliberate.  She took a box of marshmallows from beneath the counter.

“There are some here,” she said, “but I’m afraid they aren’t very fresh.  The fresh ones, those that have just come, are in a box in the back room.  That box hasn’t been opened yet.  If you can wait I’ll open it for you.”