“What?”
“Myself,” says Catty again, kind of stiff and formal. “I calc’late to boss the job and see it is done right. I calc’late to hire both the local painters, and you know they are good men. My father is a first-class painter. I’m willing to take this job cheap to get established here, because we are going into business here and expect to live here. I guarantee satisfaction.”
“Well, I swanny!” says Mr. Manning. He sat down and didn’t act mad nor offer to throw us out. “Sit down,” says he. “I want to know more about this.... You’re young Moore, aren’t you?” says he. “What have you got to do with it?”
“Nothing,” says I, “except that Catty is a friend of mine and Dad’s, and I come along.”
“Do you recommend this young man?” says he.
“Yes,” says I, “and so will Dad.” I knew Dad would.
“What’s your proposition?” says Mr. Manning to Catty.
“I’ll do this job for cost—exactly what it costs, and ten cents on each dollar besides for my profit. If you want to you can buy the paints and supplies and pay me the profit when it’s all done. Then you’ll know you’re getting a fair deal.”
“Who are you, anyhow?”
“Catty Atkins,” says he.