We picked up Peg in a candy store on Main Street. [[80]]
“What do you know, fellows?” he grinned, a jawbreaker in each cheek. “I sold a box of beauty soap to Miss Prindle!”
Maybe you remember Miss Prindle, the Tutter dressmaker. I told about her in my book, JERRY TODD AND THE ROSE-COLORED CAT. She is the woman who owned the crab-apple marmalade that our cats got into. We don’t like her. None of the Tutter kids do. She’s too cranky. You should hear her go for us if we touch her fence or go in her yard! Wough!
“Does she think,” laughed Scoop, “that the soap will make her beautiful?”
“Of course,” grinned Peg. “What do you suppose I sold it to her for?—to trim petticoats with?”
We laughed. For it struck us as being funny that Miss Prindle, one of the homeliest women in Tutter, had spent her money for a box of Peg’s soap in the hope that it would make her beautiful. She had about as much chance of becoming beautiful as Mr. Ricks’ talking frog had of growing whiskers.
Our big chum had sold eight boxes of soap. This gave us a total sale of twenty-four boxes. When we put our money together we had an even [[81]]six dollars. Two dollars and forty cents of this belonged to the soap man. The balance, three dollars and sixty cents, was ours.
“To-morrow,” planned Peg, “we ought to sell at least fifteen dollars’ worth.”
“We’re going to be rich,” I laughed, contented in our success.
“Let’s look at it the other way,” grinned Scoop.