“Well,” says Mr. Spillane, “what about Jehoshaphat P. Skip?”
“Jehoshaphat P. Skip,” says Mark, “was here to see you yesterday. I d-don’t know what he told you—maybe it was true and maybe it was lies. We’ve come to tell our side of it.”
“And who are you?”
“We’re Smalley’s Bazar,” says Mark.
“Where’s Mr. Smalley?”
“In the hospital. We’re runnin’ the business.”
“Four kids,” says Mr. Spillane.
“He told you, didn’t he? Yes, sir, four kids—but we play fair. We don’t go s-s-sneakin’ off to spoil a competitor’s credit, and we don’t lie and we don’t cheat.”
“Smalley’s Bazar is on the verge of bankruptcy,” says Mr. Spillane. “I am writing you a letter to-day refusing further credit and demanding a settlement of the account now standing.”
Mark thought a minute. “The more retail businesses there are,” says he, “the more goods wholesale houses sell. Every t-time a little store is killed off it costs the wholesaler money, doesn’t it?”