Wetherell nodded. Still the countryman did not look up.

"F-folks told me to be careful," he repeated without a smile. He was
looking at the lockets, and finally pointed a large finger at one of
them--the most expensive, by the way. "W-what d'ye get for that?" he
asked.

"Twenty dollars," the clerk promptly replied. Thirty was nearer the
price, but what did it matter.

"H-how much for that?" he said, pointing to another. The clerk told him.
He inquired about them all, deliberately repeating the sums, considering
with so well-feigned an air of a purchaser that Mr. Wetherell began to
take a real joy in the situation. For trade was slack in August, and
diversion scarce. Finally he commanded that the case be put on the top of
the counter, and Wetherell humored him. Whereupon he picked up the locket
he had first chosen. It looked very delicate in his huge, rough hand, and
Wetherell was surprised that the eyes of Mr. Bass had been caught by the
most expensive, for it was far from being the showiest.

"T-twenty dollars?" he asked.

"We may as well call it that," laughed Wetherell.

"It's not too good for Cynthy," he said.

"Nothing's too good for Cynthy," answered Mr. Wetherell, mockingly,
little knowing how he might come to mean it.