He grunted, but didn’t say a word. Mark looked up and saw him, but his expression never changed.
“Mr. Skip wants to see you when you get time,” says I.
He nodded, and in a minute he came over. The woman he’d been waiting on didn’t go out, but hung around to listen, I guess. Folks in Wicksville was right on hand when curiosity was being handed out.
“What can I d-do for you?” says Mark to Jehoshaphat.
“Chattel mortgage ’s due Friday. What you goin’ to do about it?”
Mark got on the dolefulest, mournfulest look I ever saw.
“Mr. Skip,” says he, good and loud, so everybody could hear him, “can’t you give us a l-little time?”
“Not a day,” says Skip, snapping his jaws shut.
“I know we owe the money,” says Mark, “but we didn’t git it of you. You went out of your way to buy up that chattel mortgage. You did it just so as to bust up this b-b-business.” He didn’t say it mean, but just like he was almost ready to cry. Skip’s eyes was blinking with satisfaction.
“We can p-pay you part of it,” says Mark. “Won’t you give us time on the rest?”