"Nope," returned the Unwiseman. "I can't change my mind. Can't get it out of my head, to change. Besides, I must hurry. I've got to get a hundred pairs of stockings before Christmas Eve."
"Oh!" said Mollie. "I see. You are going into the stocking business."
"No, I'm not," said the queer old fellow, with a knowing smile. "There isn't much money in selling stockings. I've got a better idea than that. You come around to my house Christmas morning and I'll show you a thing or two—that is, I will if I can get the hundred pairs of stockings—you couldn't lend me a few pairs, could you?"
"I guess maybe so," said Mollie.
"All right—thank you very much," said the Unwiseman. "I'll be off now and get them. Good-by."
And before Mollie could say another word he was gone.
"Isn't he the worst you ever saw?" said Mollie.
"Puffickly-digulous," said Whistlebinkie.
"I wonder what his business is to be," observed Mollie, as she seated herself on the sled and made ready for the descent.