“Didn’t you send out invoices?”
“Invoices? Didn’t calc’late to. Used to set down and write a letter once in a while askin’ for money.”
“I’m s’prised,” says Mark, his voice not getting a bit sarcastic, but his eyes looking that way considerable—“I’m s’prised you went busted.”
“I hain’t,” says Silas. “I always went busted. Seems like goin’ busted was a habit of mine.”
“Have any cost system?”
“What’s one of them?” says Silas, looking around bewildered—like as if he expected one to come up and lick his hand. “Never seen one around here!”
“A cost system is the way you find out how much it costs you to manufacture—how much it c-c-costs to make a hundred d-drumsticks or a h-hundred dumb-bells and sich. Didn’t you know that?”
“Course not,” said Silas. “What’s the difference, anyhow?”
“How could you f-f-figger your sellin’ prices?”
“Mostly I took what was offered.”