Because the grocer sells pickles, and makes a good thing of them, we had to undertake that, in that branch of commerce, we wouldn't compete with him.

Pickles are forbidden." Waymark burst into a most unsympathetic roar of laughter, but with O'Gree the grievance was evidently a serious one, and it was some few moments before he recovered his equanimity.

Indeed it was not quite restored till the entrance of another customer, who purchased two ounces of butter.

When, in the dead silence which ensued, Sally was heard weighing out the order, O'Gree's face beamed; and when there followed the chink of coins in the till, he brought his fist down with a triumphant crash upon the table.
When tea was over, O'Gree managed to get Waymark apart from the rest, and showed him a small photograph of Sally which had recently been taken.
"Sally's great ambition," he whispered, "is to be taken cabinet-size, and in a snow-storm.

You've seen the kind of thing in the shop-windows?
We'll manage that before long, but this will do for the present.