“I know. But we don’t need to put that out except when we’re not here. We—we might see how it looks, though.”
Joe went behind, produced a japanned tin box with a slot in the lid and a small brass padlock on the hasp and set it on the showcase. On the front of the box was printed in white letters: “Help yourself and drop the money here.”
“How does it look?” he asked.
“All right. But, say, Joey, wouldn’t it be a joke if someone absent-mindedly walked off with the box some day?”
“The funniest kind of a joke!”
“How would it do to chain it?” continued Jack.
“Well, it would look a bit funny, wouldn’t it, to trust folks as to put their money in the box and then chain the box down?”
“I don’t see——” began Jack. But just then an elevator descended, the door opened, and out walked Mr. Adams.
“Ready for business, eh, boys? Well, you look very nice, very nice, indeed. Hm; cigars, cigarettes, magazines, candy—quite a stock of goods. Got any Vista de Isla cigars? I see you haven’t, though. It might pay you to keep a box, boys. I run out of them now and then and I might as well get them from you as send around to the club for them. Well, I’ll take a Recorder, I guess. Have to patronise home industries, you know.”