green spheres of watermelons, baskets of superb
peaches, each with a high light of rose like a pearl, and piles of
bartlett and seckel pears. There was something about all this
magnificent plenty of the fruits of the earth which was impressive.
It was to an ardent fancy as if Flora and Pomona had been that way
with their horns of plenty. The sordid question of market value,
however, was distinctly irritating, and yet it was justly so. Why
should not a man sell the fruits of the earth for dollars and cents
with artistic and honorable dignity as anything else? All commodities
for the needs of mankind are marketable, are the instruments of
traffic, whether they be groceries or books, boots and shoes, dishes
or furniture, or pictures; whether they be songs or sermons or corn
plasters or shaving-soap; whether they be food for the mind or the
body. What difference did it make which was dispensed? It was all a
question of need and supply. The minister preached his sermons for
the welfare of the soul; the Jew hawked his second-hand garments;
everything was interwoven. One must eat to live, to hear sermons, to
hear songs, to love, to think, to read. One must be clothed to tread
the earth among his fellows. There was need, and one supplied one
need, one another. All need was dignified by the man who possessed,
all supply was dignified if one looked at it in the right way. There
was a certain dignity even about his own need of two cents more on
those turnips, which were actually as beautiful as an ivory carving.
Anderson finally returned to his office, feeling a little impatient
with himself that, in spite of his own perfect contentment with his
business, he should now and then essay to justify himself in his
contentment, as he undoubtedly did. It was like a violinist screwing
his instrument up to concert-pitch, below which it would drop from
day to day.

Anderson had not been long in his office before he heard a quick
patter of feet outside, the peculiar clapping sound of swift toes,
which none but a child's feet can produce, and Eddy Carroll entered.
The door was ajar, and he pushed it open and ran in with no ceremony.
He was well in the room before he apparently remembered something. He
stopped short, ran back to the door, and knocked.

Anderson chuckled. "Come in," he said, in a loud tone, as if the door
was closed.

Then Eddy came forward with some dignity. "I remembered after I got
in that I ought to have knocked," said