“Um,” says Mark, again. “What was your ideas about en-encroachment?”
“Simple,” says Mr. Skip. “I sell things for five and ten cents. You mustn’t. You can sell for a penny or for fifteen cents or for five dollars—but not for a nickel or a dime. That’s my business.”
Mark began tugging at his fat cheek. “I calc’late,” says he, as gentle as a lamb, “that there’s some such law, eh? You got a law passed sayin’ nobody but you could s-s-sell for five and ten cents.”
“I don’t need any law. I say you mustn’t. That’s enough.”
“T-to be sure,” says Mark. “But if anybody was to g-go right along and pay no attention, what then? Eh, Mr. Skip? What if somebody did?”
“In that case,” says Mr. Skip, scowling until his two eyes looked like one slit, “in that case I’d bust ’em. Bust ’em, is what I’d do. Nobody can go against Jehoshaphat P. Skip and be the better for it.”
“You’re willin’,” says Mark, “that we should s-s-sell for fifteen cents, and for a quarter, and for a d-d-dollar?”
“Yes,” says Mr. Skip, beginning to smile like the cat that ate the canary-bird.
Mark thought a minute; then he says, “We’ll m-make a trade with you, Mr. Skip.”
“What is it? Glad to oblige if possible,” says Mr. Long Neck.