"
"Guess he'll hev to bear mor'n ever now," replied her husband as he rose
from the table. "I'm done with the whole bizness, an' I'm mighty glad I
heven't paid fer the last year, an' don't intend to now."
As Farrington passed out of the dining-room into the store, his clerk, a
young man new to the business, was serving a middle-aged woman at the
counter.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Sturgis," the former was saying, "but we are entirely out
of it just now. We can order it for you, though, and have it in a few
days."
Farrington turned angrily upon his heel as these words fell upon his ears.
"What does she want?" he demanded.
"Number forty, white thread; but we're out of it."
"You stupid blockhead, we're not out of it! We're never out! If you'd use
yer eyes half as much as yer tongue ye'd be all right."
"But I can't find it. I've looked everywhere," and the clerk's eyes flashed
danger as he turned them upon his master.
"Well, look again. Don't stand thar starin' like an ijut!"
The young man did as he was commanded. He searched and rummaged, but all
in vain.
"Oh, come out of that, an' let me thar," and Farrington shoved his way
past the clerk, and fumbled excitedly in the box.
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