“One down to the end of the block,” says I. “Let’s look at it,” says he.
We walked along until we came to the building I meant. It was wood with a false front—jest one story, but made to look like it had two, and there was an iron hitching-rail in front of it. There was a good-sized store and a small shop right next to it and opening into it. It was kind of run down and needed painting and a window or so, but it was on Main Street, and a good corner, too. Used to be a bakery there, but it went out of business and nobody had rented it since.
“That ’ll do fine,” says Catty. “Dad kin use the big store for paints and wall-papers and sich like, and I kin use the little shop.”
“What for?” says I.
“Oh,” says he, “so’s I kin sort of have a little business of my own and maybe make a dollar or two. I kin tend it and Dad’s store, too, when he’s out on a job.”
“Seems to me like you was cuttin’ out quite a spell of work for yourself,” says I.
“I wonder if there’s rooms behind where we kin live?” says he.
So we took a look, and there were rooms there—four of them—a kitchen and a dining-room and two bedrooms.
“Jest suits,” says Catty. “Who owns her?”
“Mr. Gage,” says I, with a chuckle.