People dropped in to bring “an item” of local gossip; to place a classified ad; to pay for a year’s subscription, often with a couple of dozen fresh eggs, a piece of home-cured meat, a sack of potatoes, or even with home-canned fruits and vegetables. Very rarely the subscriptions were paid for in cash, carefully counted out from painfully flat purses. But Shelley accepted the subscriptions gravely and courteously, whether they were paid for in cash or in produce. “Maybe we should go in the wholesale grocery business,” said Philip mildly one day, thoughtfully observing the shelves back of Shelley’s battered desk, that held cans and neatly labeled glass jars. “Oh, well, we can’t expect to put the paper on a cash paying basis right away,” Shelley answered lightly. “And after all, we do have to eat.” “Oh, sure, sure,” Philip agreed, and looked at her with an odd intentness. “See here, Boss Lady, I don’t really need as much salary as you are paying me. After all.
