CHAPTER XIII
In half an hour Mark came up to the front of the store and we stopped talking to listen to him.
“We n-never can raise five hundred dollars just by s-sellin’ things over the counter—not in the time that’s left to us before Jehoshaphat P. Skip’s chattel mortgage is due. Even sales and schemes for makin’ folks buy more won’t be enough.”
“That’s as good as sayin’ we’re busted,” says I.
“C-close to it,” says Mark.
“Be you givin’ up?” I says.
“No. And what’s more I hain’t goin’ to give up till Jehoshaphat P. wishes he never heard of Wicksville. But just ordinary retailin’ won’t save our b-bacon. We’ve got to get in a lump of money somehow.”
“Let’s be gettin’ at it then,” says I.
“If this man Skip only had p-played fair,” says Mark. “But he hasn’t. Fellers, he’s the right-down meanest man I ever heard of.... And that’s the only excuse we g-got for makin’ use of the scheme I’ve got ready. We got to use every way that’s honest—even if it is sort of m-mean. Maybe it hain’t right for me to feel that way, but the meaner the thing is the better I like to do it to him.”
“Same here,” says I.