"Here! Wait!" cried Mr. Larabee. "I want to talk to you about your trolley stock."
At the mention of stock the window was opened again, and once more the head came out.
"Stock is it? Trolley stock? I suspected it was something like that when I smelled your gasolene wagon coming to my door. Well, that stock isn't for sale, and don't you bother me any more about it. I won't sell to either side. Now you get away. I always go to bed early and it's past my sleeping time now. Get away!"
"But you don't understand!" cried Mr. Larabee in desperation. "We want your stock, and I am authorized to offer you——"
"I won't listen to you! Get away, I'm going to sleep!" The head was drawn in and the window came down with a bang.
"Wait! Hold on! I'll increase the price! I must talk to you!" cried Uncle Ezra, but Mr. Duncaster was firm, and there was no reply to repeated knockings.
"I guess we'd better go," said Dick gently. He had surmised how it would be.
"I'm going to try the back door," said Uncle Ezra craftily. "Maybe I can surprise him." But he had his knocking for his pains, and came back crestfallen.
"Come on," suggested the chauffeur. "I want to get back and do some business where I can make something."
"Humph! You made enough out of us," declared Mr. Larabee as the man cranked up. "Now don't you forget my sandwiches."