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In the line of unsmiling, methodically chewing guests, like horses at a manger, Carol came to distinguish one countenance: the pale, long, spectacled face and sandy pompadour hair of Mr. Raymond P. Wutherspoon, known as “Raymie,” professional bachelor, manager and one half the sales-force in the shoe-department of the Bon Ton Store.

“You will enjoy Gopher Prairie very much, Mrs. Kennicott,” petitioned Raymie. His eyes were like those of a dog waiting to be let in out of the cold. He passed the stewed apricots effusively. “There are a great many bright cultured people here. Mrs. Wilks, the Christian Science reader, is a very bright woman — though I am not a Scientist myself, in fact I sing in the Episcopal choir. And Miss Sherwin of the high school — she is such a pleasing, bright girl — I was fitting her to a pair of tan gaiters yesterday, I declare, it really was a pleasure.”

“Gimme the butter, Carrie,” was Kennicott's comment. She defied him by encouraging Raymie:

“Do you have amateur dramatics and so on here?”