“Licked?” says Mark. “Huh!”
“We might as well close up,” says I.
“There’s only one th-thing we might as well close,” says he, “and that’s croakin’. We thought we had Jehoshaphat P. Skip licked this m-mornin’, but did he quit? Huh? He didn’t quit, but he played low-down mean. We won’t quit, and we won’t play low-down mean—but Mr. Jehoshaphat P. Skip’ll wish he had two noses to wiggle ’fore this l-little fuss is over. Come on,” says he, “and look a little happier. We hain’t licked,” he says, “till the sheriff takes the store away from us.”
“But what’ll we do?”
“How do I know?” says he. “We’ll do somethin’. I’m goin’ back to set d-down and think.”
CHAPTER V
For the next three days things were pretty slack with us. What business there was seemed to be going to Jehoshaphat P. Skip, though of course there was just a little trickle of folks into our store. Mark Tidd didn’t pay much attention—just sat around and squinted and pinched his fat cheeks and thought. We couldn’t get anything out of him and there wasn’t any use trying. When he had a scheme all cooked up he’d come and tell us—and we had to be satisfied with that.
Once he looked up when I went past and says, half to me and half to himself, “What I want is somethin’ that’ll shoot two barrels at once. H-hit Jehoshaphat P. with one and fetch down the Wicksville f-f-folks with the other.”
“Sure,” says I, “but any old kind of a scheme that will do any old thing to bring a little business is what we need. We haven’t sold enough stuff in three days to pay wages to an invalid cat.”
“Huh!” says he; “I can bring business in. Anybody could. But so l-long as Skip stays here it’ll mean one scheme after another—and that’s hard work.”