“Them Atkins fellers,” says he.
“But you’re gittin’ all the work,” says I.
“The more I git the more I lose,” says he.
“How’s that?”
“Why, my sister-in-law, she got me to open this shop to run them folks out. She says they didn’t have no capital and that I could underbid ’em and bust ’em in a couple of weeks. That looked all right to me, ’cause she lent me some money to put with what I’d saved, and I started in.”
“Sounds good,” says I.
“Sounded too good,” says he. “I figgered they’d bid so as to make money, and that I could underbid ’em down to cost and break even. I could ’a’ stood that—just to break even for a while till they was got rid of, and then I’d have all the business to myself.”
“Didn’t it work?”
“Work nothin’! Them Atkinses done me. They’re sharpers. They cheated me.”
“How?” says I, gettin’ interested.