Max.
Merker deliberately laid aside his pipe, deliberately moved down the
aisle behind his counter, deliberately filled his scoop, deliberately
manipulated the scales. After the package was duly and neatly encased,
labelled and deposited accurately in front of Mrs. Max, Merker looked
her in the eye.
"Five pounds of beans," said he, and paused for the next item.
The moment the woman had departed, Merker resumed his pipe and his
wide-eyed vacancy.
Welton was immensely amused and tickled.
"Seems to me he might keep a little busier," grumbled Bob.
"I thought so, too, at first," replied the older man, "but his store is
always neat, and he keeps up his stock. Furthermore, he never makes a
mistake--there's no chance for it on his one-thing-at-a-time system."
But it soon became evident that Merker's reveries did not mean vacancy
of mind. At such times the Placid One figured on his stock. When he put
in a list of goods required, there was little guess-work as to the
quantities needed. Furthermore, he had other schemes. One evening he
presented himself to Welton with a proposition. His waving brown hair
was slicked back from his square, placid brow, his wide, cowlike eyes
shone with the glow of the common or domestic fire, his brown beard was
neat, and his holiday clothes were clean.
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