A barrel of ginger snaps stood in one corner of the store.
"How much a pound?" I asked, giving the cakes a wistful look.
"Twenty-five cents a pound," said the grocer.
We left the store without purchasing anything and made our way back to the cars, forced to accept the ill-given hospitality of the section foreman.
That afternoon a lucky thought came to me. We yet had plenty of clothing, and why not auction it off?
In my grip was a mouth harp that I had bought in Bisbee.
Allen, who was a good harmonica player, struck up several lively airs, and in a few minutes every man in the camp had gathered around us, including the foreman.
Some were popping and slapping their hands in applause, and others were dancing jigs in time to the music.
I gave Allen the signal to stop and, opening up both our grips, began auctioneering off small pieces of goods.