So this morning I
sashays around the yard till I meets a certain young lady a standing by
the yaller rose bush next to our line fence and I says: 'Good morning
madam,' I says, 'from what I see and hear and cogitate,' I says, 'it's
getting about time for you to join my list of regular customers.' And
she kind of laughs like a Swiss bellringer's chime--the way she laughs;
and she pretended she didn't understand. So I broadens out and says, 'I
sold Rhody Kollander her first patent rocker the day she came to town to
begin housekeeping with. I sold your pa and ma a patent gate before they
had a fence. I sold Joe Calvin's woman her first apple corer, and I
started Ahab Wright up in housekeeping by selling him a Peerless cooker.
I've sold household necessities to every one of the Mrs. Sandses' and 'y
gory, madam,' I says, 'next to the probate court and the preacher, I'm
about the first necessity of a happy marriage in this man's town,' I
says, 'and it looks to me,' I says, 'it certainly looks to me--' And I
laughs and she laughs, all redded up and asts: 'Well, what are you
selling this spring, Captain?' And I says, 'The Appomattox churn,' and
then one word brought on another and she says finally, 'You just tell
Tom to buy one for the first of our Lares and Penates,' though I got the
last word wrong and tried to sell him Lares and spuds and then Lares and
Murphies before he got what I was drivin' at. But I certainly sold the
other bridegroom, Henry--eh?"

A silence greeted the Captain's remarks. In it the "Stones of Venice"
grew bleak and cold for Grant Adams. He rose and walked rather aimlessly
toward the water cooler in the rear of the store and gulped down two
cups of water. When he came back to the bench the group there was busy
with the Captain's news. But the music did not start again. Morty Sands
sat staring into the pearl inlaid ring around the hole in his mandolin,
and his chin trembled. The talk drifted away from the Captain's
announcement in a moment, and Morty saw Grant Adams standing by the
door, looking through a window into the street. Grant seemed a tower of
strength. For a few minutes Morty tried to restore his soul by thrumming
a tune--a sweet, tinkly little tune, whose words kept dinging in his
head:

"Love comes like a summer sigh, softly o'er us stealing;
Love comes and we wonder why, at love's shrine we're kneeling!"

But that only unsteadied his chin further. So he tucked his mandolin
under his