“How?” says I.
“Telephone,” says he. “No time to waste. While I’m gone you see if the railroad kin set a car in on our sidin’ right away. I want to ship a c-car to-day.”
“Who to?” says I.
“How should I know?” says he, “I got to sell it yet.”
That was hustling for you, wasn’t it? Here he was planning to get a car and have it loaded and ship it when he didn’t have a thing sold and didn’t know whether he could sell a thing. But he was always a fellow to take a chance when there was a fair show of its amounting to something. I scooted over, and the man in the freight-shed told me he could set in a car before noon. Then I hustled over to the telephone office to meet Mark. He was just getting the man that owned the big mill in Bostwick on the wire.
“Hello!” says he. “Hello! This is Mark Tidd, of Wicksville. I want to speak to the b-b-boss.” He waited a minute, listening. “No, not him,” he says. “The man that owns it. Mr. Rushmore.” In another minute he spoke again. “Hello! Mr. Rushmore? Mornin’, Mr. Rushmore! This here is Mark Tidd, of Wicksville. Remember me?”
I guess Mr. Rushmore remembered him, because Mark went right along talking.
“I got them p-p-prices figgered out. We been manufacturin’ r-right along, and we kin ship a car-load to-day. Eh? What’s that?... Oh, here’s the list!” He read off the list of things we could ship and how many of them, and then he give out the prices. “Yes,” says he, in a couple of seconds, “it’s some b-boost in price, but it’s the b-best we kin do. We couldn’t sell for a cent l-less and keep in b-business.” Another little wait. “All right. T-thank you, sir. We’ll ship to-day.... How about a c-c-contract? At those prices.”
Mr. Rushmore did some talking, and then Mark says:
“Much obleeged, sir. How about dowels? What’s the market price of dowels? I calc’late we can furnish them at the market.”