“Can't you keep still about your ole snow?” demanded Penrod petulantly. “Makes me so thirsty I can't keep still, and I've drunk so much now I bet I bust. That ole hydrant water's mighty near hot anyway.”
“I'm goin' to have a big store, when I grow up,” volunteered Maurice.
“Candy store?” asked Penrod.
“NO, sir! I'll have candy in it, but not to eat, so much. It's goin' to be a deportment store: ladies' clothes, gentlemen's clothes, neckties, china goods, leather goods, nice lines in woollings and lace goods——”
“Yay! I wouldn't give a five-for-a-cent marble for your whole store,” said Sam. “Would you, Penrod?”
“Not for ten of 'em; not for a million of 'em! I'm goin' to have——”
“Wait!” clamoured Maurice. “You'd be foolish, because they'd be a toy deportment in my store where they'd be a hunderd marbles! So, how much would you think your five-for-a-cent marble counts for? And when I'm keepin' my store I'm goin' to get married.”
“Yay!” shrieked Sam derisively. “MARRIED! Listen!” Penrod and Herman joined in the howl of contempt.
“Certumly I'll get married,” asserted Maurice stoutly. “I'll get married to Marjorie Jones. She likes me awful good, and I'm her beau.”
“What makes you think so?” inquired Penrod in a cryptic voice.