hats are all the go this summer," or "there's nothin' better than an
oilskin coat for sailin' cruises or picnics." Outing shirts and yachting
caps, fancy stationery, post cards, and chocolates should be changing
hands at a great rate and the showcase, containing the nicked blue
plates and cracked teapots, the battered candlesticks and tarnished
pewters, "genuine antiques," should be opened at frequent intervals for
the inspection of bargain-seeking mothers and their daughters. July and
August are the Cape Cod harvest months; if the single-entry ledgers of
Trumet's business men do not show good-sized profits during that season
they are not likely to do so the rest of the year.

Captain Daniel Dott, proprietor of the Metropolitan Store, bending over
his own ledger spread on the little desk by the window at the rear of
his establishment, was realizing this fact, realizing it with a sinking
heart and a sense of hopeless discouragement. The summer was almost
over; September was only three days off; in another fortnight the hotels
would be closed, the boarding houses would be closing, and Trumet,
deserted by its money spending visitors, would be falling asleep,
relapsing into its autumn and winter hibernation. And the Dott ledger,
instead of showing a profit of a thousand or fifteen hundred dollars, as
it had the first summer after Daniel bought the business, showed but a
meager three hundred and fifty, over and above expenses.

Through the window the sun was shining brightly. From the road in front
of the store--Trumet's "Main Street"--came the rattle of wheels and the
sound of laughter and conversation in youthful voices. The sounds drew
nearer. Someone shouted "Whoa!" Daniel Dott, a ray of hope illuminating
his soul at the prospect of a customer, rose hurriedly from his seat by
the desk and hastened out into the shop.