Part 29 (1/2)

Aunty was watchin' him casual as he weighs out a couple of pounds, when all of a sudden she unlimbers her long-handled gla.s.ses and takes a closer look. ”My good man,” says she, ”haven't I seen you somewhere before?”

”Oh, yes,” says he, scoopin' a pinch off the scales so they'd register exactly to the quarter ounce.

”In some other store, perhaps?” says she.

”I think not,” says he.

”Then where?” asks Aunty.

”Cooperstown,” says he, reachin' for a paper bag and shootin' the tea in skillful. ”Anything more, Madam?”

”Cooperstown!” echoes Aunty. ”Why, I haven't been there since I was a girl.”

”Yes, I know,” says he. ”You didn't even finish at high school. Cut sugar, did you say, Madam?”

”A box,” says Aunty, starin' puzzled. ”Perhaps you attended the same school?”

He nods.

”Oh, I seem to remember now,” says she. ”Aren't you the one they called--er---- What was it you were called?”

”Woodie,” says he. ”Will you have lemons too? Fresh Floridas.”

”Two dozen,” says Aunty. ”Well, well! You used to ask me to skate with you on the lake, didn't you?”

”When my courage was running high,” says he. ”Sometimes you would; but more often you wouldn't. I lived at the wrong end of town, you know.”

”In the Hollow, wasn't it?” says she. ”And there was something queer about--about your family, wasn't there?”

He looks her straight in the eye at that, Woodie does. ”Yes,” says he.

”Mother went out sewing. She was a widow.”

”Oh!” says Aunty. ”I recall your skates--those funny old wooden-topped ones, weren't they?”

”I was lucky to have those,” says he.

”Hm-m-m!” muses Aunty. ”But you could skate very well. You taught me the Dutch roll. I remember now. Then there was the night we had the big bonfire on the ice.”

Woodie lets on not to hear this last, but grabs a sales slip and gets busy jottin' down items.

I nudges Vee, and she smothers a snicker. We was enjoyin' this little peek into their past. Could you have guessed it? Aunty! She orders six loaves of sandwich bread and asks to see the canned caviar.

”You've never found anything better to do,” she goes on, ”than--than this?”

”No,” says Woodie, on his way down from the top shelf.

Once more Aunty levels her lorgnette and gives him the cold, curious look over. ”Hm-m-mff!” says she through her aristocratic nose. ”I must say that as a boy you were presuming enough.”

”I got over that,” says he.