The governor had the “harvest table,” which was groaning under the weight of three pears and two papers of seed.

“What’s this?” asked Aunt Stanshy, stopping before a discarded mantel-piece resting on a rabbit-box and a coal-hod.  On this “table” were autumn leaves, sprigs of hemlock, a few ferns, and one chrysanthemum blossom.

“Thith?” replied Pip, who, like all the others, had put on a “Sunday smile” to attract customers.  “Thith ith a flower table.  Will you buy a flower?”

“If I can see one,” said Aunt Stanshy, laughing.

“There,” said Pip, triumphantly holding up the lonely chrysanthemum.  “One thent only!  Thomething rare!”

“I’ll buy it, and here is the cent.”

“Cath!” sang out Pip, in tones of command, addressed to a supposed cash-boy.

No one responded.

“Cath!”

“Why, you are the cash-boy,” said the president, “and you bring the money to me, for I am the cashier.”

“I tend a counter,” squeaked Pip.  A serious misunderstanding as to positions in the fair here threatened to arise, but it was all averted by the obliging Tony, who undertook to transport all bullion from the tables to the cashier’s office.

There now appeared the president’s little sister, “Callie Doodles,” as she was familiarly called.

“O, boys, she’s got a cent, for mother promised it to her!  She isn’t a nail-one!” shouted her brother.

Nail-ones belonged to an inferior caste.  This class included those who had been about the streets and yards, back of barns and in old corner-lots, picking up nails or cast-away bits of iron.  Their currency was the more common.  A hard-cash customer was about as common as bobolinks in December.

“Callie, come here and buy some fruit!”

“Don’t you want some candy, Callie?”

“Buy a toy, Callie!”

“Flowerth! flowerth!” were the various shouts greeting the cash customer.  She was saluted eagerly, as hack-men hail the arrivals in the trains at a city station.  Callie made no reply, but stubbed in a demure, dignified way, from table to table, finally halting where children’s strongest passion is sure to take them, at the candy table.  Here she traded away her cash.

“And wont you try a piece?” said Juggie to Aunt Stanshy, displaying his stock of two pieces of candy.  “Try dese goods.”

She graciously took the sample.

“How do you sell candy?”

“Cent a stick.”

“Well, I’ll take it.”

“Two cents,” said Juggie, prudently charging for the piece given on trial also.

As Aunt Stanshy left this enterprising trader, she heard a vigorous summons: 

“Cash! cash!”

At the supper-table that night Charlie asked, “Aunty, what do you suppose we are going to have now in our club?  Something at our fair, I mean?”

“A tornado.”

“No, a refreshment saloon; and the boys said they knew you would be in every day to buy something.”