"This?" Jeff held the pencil up. "It's a Bagstone, the newest thing. I wouldn't be without one."
"Want to sell it?"
"Uh-uh. I have only a couple left and I may need them."
"What's it cost?"
"A dollar."
"License is fifty cents. Can we swap?"
Jeff passed the pencil through the grill, but instead of the expected fifty cents, the clerk handed him another slip of paper.
"What's this?"
"Peddler's license and you're a peddler. They cost fifty cents, so we're even."
Jeff, who had thought the clerk a naïve rustic, grinned his appreciation of someone else who knew how to get what he wanted and started down the corridor. He was still cheerful; he'd bought a dozen of the pencils for two dollars, and all except two were sold. It was a good sign, and he might do a brisk business in Cressman. He hadn't thought so when he came in because there were many stores, and usually people would not buy from a peddler if they could get what they wanted at a store. But Jeff felt lucky.