“To be sure.”
“Then why didn’t you ask?” says Mr. Atkins. “When folks gives an order, and don’t worry none about how much they got to pay for it, I always git a sneakin’ idea it’s because they don’t calc’late they’ll ever have to pay. Funny notion, hain’t it?”
“Very,” says Mr. Kinderhook, with a funny kind of a grin. “But you must know me, sir. My name is Kinderhook.”
“Seen you ’round town,” says Mr. Atkins. “Been sort of lookin’ you over once or twice. Int’restin’ feller, you be, I sh’u’d say. Got int’restin’ and everythin’. Always wear that high hat?”
“I have done so for years.”
“Thought so. Habit, hain’t it? Wa’n’t born with it on, was you?”
Mr. Kinderhook laughed like he saw a mighty good joke. “No,” he said, “but my mother gave it to me soon after.”
“Price of that sign ’ll be a even hunderd dollars,” says Mr. Atkins.
“Perfectly satisfactory,” says Mr. Kinderhook, and he started for the door again.
“If it’s so doggone satisfactory,” says Mr. Atkins, “jest suppose you plunk down the money—now?”