“Why didn’t you sell her a couple of boxes?” Tom inquired, disappointed.
But Scoop shook his head.
“No. That wasn’t a part of my scheme. As a matter of fact I took an unfair advantage of her in selling her the one cake. I pretended. And that isn’t good salesmanship. But you know why I did it.” He looked at me and grinned. “Cheer up, Jerry. Watch how I do it. Then you’ll be more successful next time.”
He was acting chesty again. It got under my [[70]]skin. A fellow hates to be as unlucky as I was. Mrs. Pederson had whanged me on the head with a broom when I had tried to sell her a cake of beauty soap. And he had hooked her for a dime, just as easy as pie.
“You talk as though you know a lot about salesmanship,” I spit out, wanting to pick on him in my grouch.
“I know,” he said, waggling, “that good salesmanship is honest salesmanship. For Pa says so.”
“Huh!”
He grinned at me in a tantalizing way.
“Jerry, you might make a good wheelbarrow inspector on a ditching crew—something that doesn’t require any skull practice. But you haven’t the necessary talent for soap peddling.”
“You hate yourself!”