The banker had to do considerable gulping before he found his voice.
“Unlock the door, Forrest,” says he hoarsely. “You shouldn’t have locked it in the first place.”
Poppy stopped in the doorway.
“By the way,” says he sweetly, “I forgot to tell you that we couldn’t have signed your paper anyway. For this afternoon when I was in Chicago I not only sold every pickle that we’ve got in stock, but I further got orders for all we can make in the next six weeks.”
“It’s a lie!” thundered the banker. “No boy could do it.”
“You would be doing boys an injustice,” was Poppy’s parting shot, “if you were to judge them all by your grandson.”
CHAPTER XXI
IN THE SHADOW OF THE CHIMNEY
As soon as we hit the street I weaved over to the curb and collapsed.
“What’s the matter?” grinned old surprise package. “Are you tired?”
“Kid,” I recovered my voice, “I’m paralyzed with joy. Is it true?”