“But,” says I, “this is a five-and-ten-cent store. How can he sell things that come to more?”
“Oh,” says the clerk, “he’s goin’ to open a separate department and sell every single thing the Bazar does—and cut prices. Guess this beauty contest won’t get much for the Bazar folks against lower prices.”
That was the way I looked at it, and my heart went ’way down into my boots, but I wouldn’t let him see it.
“About that contest,” says he, “I’d like to get my name in. But I wouldn’t like Skip to know I went in myself. He’d have to think somebody else did it without me knowing.”
“Sure,” says I.
He looked all around to make sure nobody was looking, and then handed me half a dollar.
“Here,” says he in a whisper. “Buy me a necktie with this, and have my name entered. Will you? Eh?”
“Course,” says I; “glad to do it for you.”
I hurried right out of the store and across the street, not waiting to spend my quarter at all. I had to see Mark Tidd, and see him quick. Something had to be done. Something had to be done in a minute. If we lost these agencies and had our credit cut off we might as well close our doors. Here was Mark’s chance to show if he was as great a man as folks thought he was.