“In our business,” he swelled up, figuring, of course, that this would scare me to death, “we aren’t in the habit of explaining to boys why we do this or don’t do that. The point is, we object to having such a ridiculous outfit as this moved in front of our office. And, further, we need the lot for our own use. So, if you are wise you’ll have this building taken back where it came from.”
I couldn’t help but wish that old Poppy were there. For he can wind up his gab to match anybody’s.
“Suppose we don’t move out,” says I. “What will happen to us?”
“We’ll buy the lot and force you out.”
Well, there wasn’t anything that I could say to that. Certainly, if they wanted to buy the lot, and Mr. Weckler was willing to sell it to them, we couldn’t stop the deal. But what made me hot was the thought that they had waited until now to do their buying. It looked like spitework to me. Still, it was hard for me to believe that a big business man like Mr. Norman Pennykorn would act that way with a couple of boys.
This, as you will remember, was on Saturday morning. And as Saturday is always a busy day in the stores I figured that we ought to sell a lot of pickles. But at eleven-thirty I hadn’t taken in a penny. Then, who should breeze in but old Poppy, himself.
“Hot dog!” says he, looking around. “This sure is the berries. How’s business?”
“Rotten,” says I.
“When did you open up?”
“This morning.”