“We’ll swap you the r-right to open a store in Wicksville for the right to sell whatever we please,” says Mark.
Mr. Skip kind of clouded up and I judged he was getting ready to thunder a bit. He did. He roared and grumbled, and made a sight of noise about it, too.
“Don’t make fun of me, young feller. Don’t make fun of Jehoshaphat P. Skip. Nobody ever did and failed to regret it. I’ve told you you can’t interfere with my trade, and you can’t. This is the first and last warnin’. Don’t dare sell a nickel’s worth or a dime’s worth or you’ll suffer the consequences.”
Mark looked sort of meek. “My f-f-father says competition is the life of trade,” he says.
“I won’t have no competition,” says Mr. Skip.
“Maybe not,” says Mark, still as meek as a sheep. Then all of a sudden he perked up and looked right into Mr. Skip’s narrow eyes. “Maybe not,” he says, again, this time some louder, “but I’m calc’latin’ you will. I’m calc’latin’ you hain’t ever seen any competition till n-n-now.” He swept his hand around the store. “This Bazar,” says he, “is full of stuff to sell for five and ten cents—and it’s goin’ to be sold. It’s g-g-goin’ to be made a specialty of. I was plannin’ on bein’ fair. I was figgerin’ on makin’ it as easy for you as I could, but now, Mr. Skip, you’re goin’ to find your store’s got the liveliest c-c-competition in Michigan. We’ll s-sell what we like for how much we like.... Now, Mr. Skip, good mornin’. We’re pretty b-busy.”
Not another word did he say, but turned his bulging back on Mr. Long Neck and walked to the back of the store. Mr. Long Neck swallowed a couple of times so you could see it all the way from his collar to his ears, and went out muttering to himself. Mark grinned at me and winked encouraging.
“There,” says I, “now see what we’re up against.”
“Hain’t it b-b-bully? Better ’n I hoped,” says he.
“He’ll bust us,” says I.