Mark looked sort of funny.
“P-permit?” says he.
“Yes,” says the marshal, “you have to have one when you use the public street.”
“Um,” says Mark, “guess I sort of overlooked that.”
“Then,” says the marshal, “you’ll have to quit. Sorry. I wouldn’t ’a’ said a word if somebody hadn’t complained, but this here feller complained, so I got to perform my duty.”
“Sure,” says Mark. “D-don’t blame you a mite.” He turned to the crowd and says, “Owin’ to the law bein’ called down on me, this auction is called off. Folks that want to buy—and buy cheap—will step inside.”
It made everybody kind of mad, because Wicksville loves to be at an auction, and people scowled at Skip, but he didn’t care. He just went hurrying back to his store and got his music to playing loud, and then stood in front with one of those megaphone things and yelled:
“Grand openin’ now in progress. Greatest bargains ever offered in Wicksville. Step right this way.”
Well, maybe folks were mad at Mr. Skip, but they were down-town to have some fun and see something and buy something, so they started stringing down his way, and pretty soon the whole crowd was jamming into his store. We were all alone. I looked at Mark and was feeling pretty glum. I expected he would look glum, too, but he didn’t. His jaw was sticking out like I’d never seen it stick out before.
“We’re licked,” says I. “I knew we couldn’t go against a grown-up business man.”