o the rigid angles of the thin, blank, unpainted shell
before her. One of the loungers, who was reading a newspaper aloud as
she advanced, put it aside and stared at her; there was an evident
commotion in the shop as she stepped upon the platform, and when she
entered, with breathless lips and beating heart, she found herself the
object of a dozen curious eyes. Her quick pride resented the scrutiny
and recalled her courage, and it was with a slight coldness in her
usual lazy indifference that she leaned over the counter and asked for
the articles she wanted.

The request was followed by a dead silence. Mrs. Tucker repeated it
with some _hauteur_.

"I reckon you don't seem to know this store is in the hands of the
sheriff," said one of the loungers.

Mrs. Tucker was not aware of it.

"Well, I don't know any one who's a better right to know than Spence
Tucker's wife," said another with a coarse laugh. The laugh was echoed
by the others. Mrs. Tucker saw the pit into which she had deliberately
walked, but did not flinch.

"Is there any one to serve here?" she asked, turning her clear eyes
full upon the bystanders.

"You'd better ask the sheriff. He was the last one to _sarve_ here. He
sarved an attachment," replied the inevitable humorist of all
Californian assemblages.

"Is he here?" asked Mrs. Tucker, disregarding the renewed laughter
which followed this subtle witticism.

The loungers at the door made way for one of their party, who was half
dragged, half pushed into the shop. "Here he is," said half a dozen
eager voices, in the fond belief that his presence might impart
additional humor to the situation. He cast a deprecating glance at Mrs.
Tucker and said, "It's so, madam! This yer place _is_ attached; but if
there's anything you're wanting, why I reckon, boys,"--he turned half
appealingly to the crowd, "we could oblige a lady." There was a vague
sound of angry opposition and remonstrance from the back door of the
shop, but the majority, partly overcome by Mrs. Tucker's beauty,
assented. "Only," continued the officer explanatorily, "ez these yer
goods are in the hands of the creditors, they ought to be represented
by an equivalent in money. If you're expecting they should be
charged"--

"But I wish to, _pay_ for them," interrupted Mrs. Tucker, with a slight
flush of indignation; "I have the money."

"Oh, I bet you have!" screamed a voice, as, overturning all opposition,
the malcontent at the back door, in