“What you talking about, kid?”
“Why, at first I didn’t understand you was weak-minded and that’s why they shut you behind them bars. I didn’t realize you was weak-minded till you showed it so plain.”
We heard somebody kind of chuckle over to the left, and there was a fine-looking man with whiskers parted in the middle.
“He kind of had you there, Jones,” says he. “What made you think he was weak-minded, Son?”
“Why, instead of findin’ out what we wanted, or if it was something the boss would want to know about, he jest tried to send us off. That hain’t brains. When you’re in business you don’t want to let no chances slip. Nobody ever knows what minute there’s goin’ to be a chance to make money. I always find out what everybody wants that comes in, and if they don’t want anything, why, I try to make them want something.”
“Hear that, Jones?” says the man with the whiskers. “You might remember it, too. It’s a good rule.... Now, young man, I’m Mr. Sommers—the boss, as you call it. What can I do for you?”
“I want to show you something,” says Catty, “and ask you if you don’t think there’s money in it.”
“Come in,” says Mr. Sommers, and in we marched.
I had noticed that Catty was carrying around a parcel all day, but I thought it was lunch or something, and hadn’t asked any questions about it. He put the parcel on a table now and began to open it. In a minute he took out that little folding-table of his father’s—the one Mr. Atkins had whittled out just for fun.
“Here it is,” says he, “a new-fangled, patent, foldin’-table. I got it into my head that it was a rip-snortin’ good table, and that maybe other folks would think so. Looky here.... It opens like this, and it’s stiddy on its feet, and you can’t pinch your fingers. I don’t call to mind ever seein’ a table quite as good as this one.... And so I come to git your opinion about it.”