"Yes Wigglethorpe," repeated the Unwiseman. "That's what I have decided to call my shammy when I get him because he will wiggle."
"He don't thorpe, does he?" laughed Whistlebinkie.
"He thorpes just as much as you bink," retorted the Unwiseman. "But as I was saying, Wigglethorpe, being alive, will be better than any ten dead ones because he won't wear out, maids won't leave him around on the parlor floor, and just because he wiggles, the silver and the hardwood floors and front door handles will be polished up in half the time it takes to do it with a dead one. At fifty cents a day I could earn three dollars a week on Wigglethorpe——"
"Which would be all profit if you fed him on potery," said Whistlebinkie with a grin.
"And if I imported a hundred of them after I found that Wigglethorpe was successful," the Unwiseman continued, very wisely ignoring Whistlebinkie's sarcasm, "that would be—hum—ha——"
"Three hundred dollars a week," prompted Mollie.
"Exactly," said the Unwiseman, "which in a year would amount to—ahem—three times three hundred and sixty-five is nine, twice nine is——"
"It comes to $15,600 a year," said Mollie.
"Right to a penny," said the Unwiseman. "I was figuring it out by the day. Fifteen thousand six hundred dollars a year is a big sum of money and reckoned in eclairs at fifty eclairs for a dollar is—er—is—well you couldn't eat 'em if you tried, there'd be so many."