“I been th-thinkin’,” says he, “that we ought to find out somethin’ everybody’ll be wantin’ about now—and git some we can sell cheap.”
“Good idee,” says I. “What’ll it be?”
“I dun’no’—yet,” says he.
We stood and thought and thought. Finally I remembered right off I knew something every woman in Wicksville would be buying about then.
“Cannin’ season,” says I.
“Course,” says he. “Mason jars. Wonder what they cost?”
“I’ll run over to the grocery and see,” I says, and off I went.
The clerk said they were selling for fifty-five cents a dozen without the rubbers.
“Hum,” says Mark. “That’s about a n-nickel apiece. If we could sell ’em three for a dime and make any profit at all we’d do consid’able b-business.”
“Where d’you buy ’em?” I wanted to know.