“They’ve rented that vacant s-s-store of Jenkins’s, and there’s a big sign sayin’ they’ll be open for b-business Monday.”
Well, sir, I was what Aunt Minnie calls flabbergasted. Why, Wicksville wasn’t big enough for two bazars—it was hard enough for one to make a living.
“I—I hope it’s a mistake,” says I.
“Oh, I dun’no’,” says Mark, sort of squinting up his little eyes. “I g-guess we’ll git along somehow—and it’ll be more fun.”
“Fun?” I says.
“Fun,” says he. “Hain’t it more f-f-fun to play a ball game against another team than it is to bounce a ball against the side of the house all alone?”
Now, wasn’t that just like him! If a thing was easy he didn’t take any interest in it, but just the minute you put some kind of a contest into it, then Mark couldn’t start in fast enough.
“Maybe it’ll be fun for you,” I told him, “but what about the Smalley family that expects that Bazar to pay for what they eat?”
“Plunk,” says Mark, “don’t git licked before the f-f-fight begins.”
“We can’t sell as cheap as those five-and-ten-cent stores. I’ve heard pa say so.”