“Look here, now——”
“So,” says Mark, “I guess we don’t want to t-t-trade with you—not in any circumstances.”
“Why not, I’d like to know?”
“Because,” says Mark, still speaking courteous and gentle-like, “it don’t n-n-never pay to do business with a man you don’t t-trust.”
“Now, Mark——” says Silas again.
Mark didn’t pay any attention. “Here’s what the market p-prices of bowls is,” says he, and he told Dwight just what every size was bringing. “That’s a f-f-fair price, too. I know what our cost is, and that g-g-gives us jest a decent profit. But I wouldn’t sell to you, Mr. Dwight, if you was to offer twice that. I jest don’t want to have any dealin’s with you at all. Good mornin’.”
He turned away and went into the office, and Dwight and Silas and the rest of us stood looking after him with our mouths open. Silas he stepped from one foot to the other and fussed with his nose and looked like he wished he could crawl in some place and hide. Dwight looked mad and embarrassed and red in the face, like anybody does when he gets caught at something.
“What’s that kid got to do with your mill?” says he to Silas.
“He’s the boss,” Silas says.
“Do you believe the nonsense he’s been telling you?”