Anyhow, it was after closing time, and sitting on the counter he lighted a cigarette, letting it stick to his under lip.

This was the latest fashion and gave one a sporting look.
Soon after he began to smoke, the farmer came out of the office.
"You can send for the truck when you like; I've no use for goods like that," he said.

"Next time you pack me a dud lot I'll cut out your account.

If you and the sporting guy who's sitting on your counter thought me a sucker, I guess I've put you wise!" He went down the steps into the street, and the lean, hard-faced storekeeper turned to Drummond with an ominous frown.
"Get off that counter! You make me tired to look at you, with your dude clothes and a cigar-root hanging out of your mouth.

Throw the blamed thing away and put up the canned stuff you left about." Drummond felt tempted to refuse, but his employer's eye was on him and he obeyed sullenly.
"When you've finished, you can clean up that row of shelves," the other resumed.