Just before noon who should we see coming into the store but Jehoshaphat P. Skip. It made me mad to see him and I’d have gone right up and told him to use the door for going out and never to use it for coming in again, but Mark saw what I was up to, I guess, and grabbed me by the arm.
“B-better let me talk to Jehoshaphat,” says he, and off he went before I could say a word.
“G-good mornin’, Mr. Skip,” says he, as sweet as molasses. “How’s business with you?”
“Huh!” grunted Jehoshaphat P., and he set to twisting the little bulb on the side of his long nose.
“Hope things are openin’ up w-well for you,” says Mark.
“You do, eh? You do, do you?” snapped Mr. Skip, and you could see the red start ’way down by his Adam’s apple and begin to crawl up his neck. It took quite a while to get to his face. Somehow he made you think of a giraffe that was provoked. “I hain’t come here for no talk,” says he. “I’ve come for business. Once and for all, will you stop sellin’ five-and-ten-cent goods?”
“Once and f-f-for all,” says Mark, “we won’t.”
Then Mr. Skip he grinned sort of mean.
“Ever hear of a chattel mortgage?” he says.
“Seems like I’d heard ’em mentioned,” says Mark.