Dick laughed.
“Why, we had a very good dinner and passed a pleasant evening there,” he replied.
“Waal, I swan!” ejaculated the storekeeper. “I reckon you’re the only fellers, ’ceptin’ Al Johnson, as is ever been inside the place. What’s it look like? What’d you have fur supper?”
“It’s just like any other house inside,” the Yale man answered. “You ought to know what we had for supper, you furnished the supplies, didn’t you?”
“I did not!” snapped Pettigrew. “I of’en wondered why this here Randolph don’t git his stuff here. It’s nearer nor anywhere else.”
Dick hesitated a moment.
“Didn’t Mr. Randolph leave a big order with you this afternoon?” he asked.
“No, nor any other arternoon,” the storekeeper returned promptly. “He never bought a cent’s worth offen me.”
This was evidently a sore point, for the man displayed considerable heat.
“Well, we must be getting on,” Dick said, as he let in his clutch. “Good night, Mr. Pettigrew.”