| 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 |
| 1 | 65 | 130 | 195 | 260 |
|
Jerking them back to the present comes the puffy little shop-walker,
with a paper in his hand. The apprentice becomes extremely active. The
shopwalker eyes the goods in hand. "Hoopdriver," he says, "how's that
line of g-sez-x ginghams?"
Hoopdriver returns from an imaginary triumph over the uncertainties of
dismounting. "They're going fairly well, sir. But the larger checks seem
hanging."
The shop-walker brings up parallel to the counter. "Any particular time
when you want your holidays?" he asks.
Hoopdriver pulls at his skimpy moustache. "No--Don't want them too late,
sir, of course."
"
How about this day week?"
Hoopdriver becomes rigidly meditative, gripping the corners of the
gingham folds in his hands. His face is eloquent of conflicting
considerations. Can he learn it in a week? That's the question.
Otherwise Briggs will get next week, and he will have to wait until
September--when the weather is often uncertain. He is naturally of a
sanguine disposition. All drapers have to be, or else they could never
have the faith they show in the beauty, washability, and unfading
excellence of the goods they sell you. The decision comes at last.
9
Page
Quick Jump
|