"How much is salmon the can now?" he inquired abruptly--this was one of
his forms of speech, the can, the pound, the cord.
His partner supplied this information with admirable promptness. Large
size, small size, present price, former price--she had them all.
"Dear me," said Mr. Deacon. "That is very nearly salmoney, isn't it?"
"Herbert!" his Ina admonished, in gentle, gentle reproach. Mr. Deacon
punned, organically. In talk he often fell silent and then asked some
question, schemed to permit his vice to flourish. Mrs. Deacon's return
was always automatic: "_Her_bert!"
"Whose Bert?" he said to this. "I thought I was your Bert."
She shook her little head. "You are a case," she told him. He beamed
upon her. It was his intention to be a case.
Lulu ventured in upon this pleasantry, and cleared her throat. She was
not hoarse, but she was always clearing her throat.
"The butter is about all gone," she observed. "Shall I wait for the
butter-woman or get some creamery?"
Mr. Deacon now felt his little jocularities lost before a wall of the
matter of fact.
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