He slung imported A1 fancy groceries about as though they were
only the stuff he delivered at boarding-houses; and when he picked up
his whip, your mind instantly recalled Mr. Tackett and his air with the
buttonless foils.
Tradesmen delivered their goods at a side gate at the rear of the house.
The grocer's wagon came about ten in the morning. For three days Celia
watched the driver when he came, finding something new each time to
admire in the lofty and almost contemptuous way he had of tossing around
the choicest gifts of Pomona, Ceres, and the canning factories. Then she
consulted Annette.
To be explicit, Annette McCorkle, the second housemaid who deserves a
paragraph herself. Annette Fletcherized large numbers of romantic novels
which she obtained at a free public library branch (donated by one of
the biggest caliphs in the business). She was Celia's side-kicker and
chum, though Aunt Henrietta didn't know it, you may hazard a bean or
two.
"Oh, canary-bird seed!" exclaimed Annette. "Ain't it a corkin'
situation? You a heiress, and fallin' in love with him on sight! He's a
sweet boy, too, and above his business. But he ain't susceptible like
the common run of grocer's assistants.
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