That night she said to her mother: “Mama, do you realize that the front of our store is the only thing on Hill Street that hasn’t changed during the past four years?”
“What do you mean?” asked Elizabeth Spellman, asperity in the tones of her voice, on the lines of her face.
“I mean,” said Mahala, “that one of these new inset fronts with show windows that you look in as you walk back to the doors and a fresh coat of paint, and new sign lettering, would help a whole lot to make the front of our store look more like that new one across the street.”
“You haven’t thought of anything new or original,” said Elizabeth. “Your father and I have realized this and we have talked it over several times. The high-class goods that he buys have got to be sold for a price that will make him a reasonable profit. He cannot lower rates like those cheap cut-throats that started up opposite him. He doesn’t think that he can afford the changes he would like to make, much as you would like to see him make them.”
“I don’t know,” said Mahala, “but that it would be a good thing to sacrifice something else and make those changes. You know how down and out Peter Potter was when Jason Peters quit school and went in with him and made things hum. He began with fresh paint and ended with a fine new store. Since they put up that new corner building, just look how everything has gone with them. I think they are doing twice the business of any other grocery in town right now, and I think it’s Jason Peters’s brain that’s at the back of most of it. Every one has come to look for the signs that are posted fresh in their windows nearly every morning. This morning one window was full of food that no one could see without a watering mouth, and the other window was full of the most attractive lamps and a display of every kind of soap you ever imagined, with a big sign reading: ‘Let us feed you, soap you, light you, and love you.’ You needn’t tell me Peter Potter did that.”
“It would be a good deal better,” said Mrs. Spellman, “if Peter Potter would put some check on that youngster. He’s too cheeky. Imagine him sticking up a sign announcing that he’ll ‘love’ us!”
Mahala giggled: “It isn’t supposed to be Jason who’s saying that. It’s supposed to be Peter Potter’s business. Isn’t it conceivable that Peter might be trying to express his love for his fellow men by giving them clean, wholesome food and the conveniences of life at a reasonable price?”
“Oh, yes, it’s conceivable,” granted Elizabeth, “but it’s unthinkable.”
Mahala laughed outright.
“Mother,” she said, “you are becoming absolutely profound.”