“Don’t b’lieve he could put the Bazar out of business, though,” I says, shaking my head.
“You don’t know Skip,” says he. “Why, kid, what d’you s’pose he’s up to now? Eh?”
“Hain’t the slightest idea,” says I, as if I didn’t care much.
“He’s got ’em pretty near busted now. Bought a chattel mortgage they’ll never be able to pay off. He’s goin’ to see to it they don’t pay it off. That’s one reason he’s in Detroit. Yes, sir. Take the wind plumb out of their sails, I tell you.”
“Huh!” says I. “Easier said than done.”
“He’s goin’ to the wholesale houses,” says the clerk in a whisper.
“What of it?”
“The Bazar owes money,” says he. “He’s goin’ to tell the wholesale houses they better look out or the Bazar’ll bust. See? Then the wholesale houses’ll demand their money. Besides that, the Bazar won’t be able to buy no more stock. Skip’ll fix their credit, and no store can git along without credit. See?”
Did I see? I should say I did see! This was almost worse than the chattel mortgage.
“Another thing,” says he, “the Bazar’s got the local agency for Wainright’s sheet music. Must be a pretty good thing. Skip’s going to get that away from ’em. Hurt some, I calc’late. And he’s goin’ to take away their agency for phonographs and records. Bet that’ll hit ’em a wallop. Eh? Skip says he’ll take away every one of their agencies.”