“Figger on shuttin’ the door and lettin’ ’em have the t-town to themselves?”
“No,” says I.
“Then,” says he, “git a box of starch from the grocery and f-f-fix up your spine with it.”
“They’ll have a grand openin’,” says I.
“To be sure. And we’ll have somethin’ that’ll make a grand openin’ look like scratchin’ a match at the eruption of Vesuvius.” Right there I saw he had a scheme already hatched, but he didn’t go any further with it and I knew it wasn’t any use to ask questions. He’d tell when he was ready.
“Come on,” says he, “and let’s find out what’s here to sell.”
We began rummaging around, and every minute or so we’d find something that father had tucked away years ago and forgot. Every shelf was full. There’d be a row of things in front, and then rows of other things behind that had been pushed out of sight. I had a sort of an idea it was that way, but in half an hour I was so surprised at the things we’d dug up that there wasn’t any more room for surprise in me.
By that time Binney and Tallow got there and Mark set them to work.
“Th-there’s goin’ to be system in this store,” he says. “Each of you has got to be one of these things they call specialists.”
My, how he spluttered on that word!