Shadrach shook his head.  “You ain’t like anybody else,” he said.  “You’re a funny girl, Mary-’Gusta.”

“I suppose I am; but I’m not as funny as I should be if I tried to be somebody else.  No, Uncle Shad, you’ll just have to bear with me as I am, funniness and all.”

A few days after this Keith, senior, came into the store.  He was not arrayed in the white flannels but was wearing a rather shabby but very comfortable tweed jacket and trousers and a white canvas hat of the kind which Hamilton and Company sold for fifty cents.  His shirt was of the soft-collared variety and his shoes were what South Harniss called “sneakers.”

John Keith’s visits to Cape Cod were neither very frequent nor lengthy.  His wife and family came in June and remained until late September, but his sojourns were seldom longer than a week at a time and there were intervals of a month or more between them.  In Chicago he was the head of a large business and that business demanded close attention.  When he left it he left his cares with it and enjoyed himself in his own way.  That way included old clothes, golf, a boat, and just as few tea and garden parties as his wife would permit.

He was planning a fishing trip and had stopped at the store to buy some tobacco.  The partners had gone home for dinner and Mary-’Gusta was tending shop.  At that moment she was busy with the traveling representative of Messrs. Bernstein, Goldberg and Baun, of Providence, wholesale dealers in stationery, cards and novelties.  The time was August, but Mr. Kron, the drummer, was already booking orders for the Christmas season.  His samples were displayed upon the counter and he and Mary-’Gusta were deep in conversation.

“That’s what you ought to have,” declared Mr. Kron, with enthusiasm.  “Believe me, there’s goin’ to be some call for that line of stuff this year.  The house can’t turn ’em out fast enough.”

“But what is it?” asked Mary-’Gusta.  “What’s it for?”

“It’s a combination calendar and beauty-box,” explained Mr. Kron.  “Hang it on the wall by your bureau—­see?  In the mornin’ you can’t remember what day it is.  All right, there’s the calendar.  Then you want to doll yourself up for—­well, for the party you’re goin’ to—­”

“The same morning?” interrupted Mary-’Gusta.

Mr. Kron grinned.  He was a young man and this was his first trip in that section.  His clothes were neither modest nor retiring and he, himself, did not suffer from these failings.  Also he prided himself on having a way with the ladies, especially the younger ladies.  And Mary-’Gusta was distinctly the most attractive young person he had met on this trip.

He laughed in appreciation of the joke.

“Say,” he observed, admiringly, “you’re up to the minute, ain’t you!  You’re some kidder, all right.  Are there many more in this burg like you?  If there are I’m goin’ to move in and settle down.  What?”