"Not at all, sir. You see it's a holler tooth."
By the way, this same manager of the Book Agents' Supply Company has a most decided aversion to all department stores.
He declares they are ruining the country.
That there is no longer a chance for a young man to set himself up in business, and so forth.
You've heard the changes rung up on that story.
Possibly there's more or less truth about it; but we've got to face a condition, not a theory.
Well, Babcock carries his hatred so far that he detests the very sight and name of the department stores. His wife has the strictest instructions not to purchase anything whatever at these pernicious paradises, and, therefore, when he returned to his home early one day last week and discovered a parcel of groceries on the hall table which bore the hated imprint of Swindell & Getrich, great and tremendous was his virtuous wrath.
His knife was out in an instant, and in another the various packages were ripped up, and condensed milk, eggs, tea, sugar, and the sultanas were mixed together in a fearsome heap on the linoleum.
"Why, what are you doing, Henry?" said his wife, entering at that moment.