But I started in to tell what it was that Stigler did. That afternoon, to my surprise, I saw him in Dorman's empty store with a carpenter, measuring the floor space. When he came out I was on the doorstep bidding good-by to Betty, who had dropped into the store to remind me that I was to take home some cheap kitchen knives.
"Hello, Black," called Stigler, as he came out of the store. At the same time his lips gave that contemptuous curl which always got under my epidermis.
"Hello, yourself, Stigler," I replied.
"Well," he said, stopping for a minute in front of me, "you and me's going to be pretty close neighbors, Black, ain't we?"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I've just rented old Dorman's store. You know, I think there's room in this town for a good five-and-ten-cent store, specializing on kitchen goods. This looked like a good location to me, so I'm just going to try it out. Open up the first of the month."
"Fine," I said. "Good luck to you!" putting as much heartiness into my tone as I could. And then I went into the store before my rage, and let me say, anxiety, should show themselves to Stigler.
"Gee whitakins!" I thought. "A five-and-ten-cent store, next door to me, specializing in kitchen goods, and run by Stigler!"
I knew, without his saying a word about it, that he was opening that store with the money he had just inherited from a brother out West, and that he was doing it just to try "to run me off my feet," as he had expressed it before.
I think I did the best thing I could possibly have done under the circumstances, for I went right over to Barlow's. Barlow had told me repeatedly that, any time I needed help, I should go right to him. I certainly felt that I needed the advice of an old war-horse like he was. Somehow the fact that he was a bit old-fashioned and staid in his ways made him appear a rock of comfort to me.