“And I’ve left my home, got my sister on her ear, made a poor man’s name for myself—”
Mr. Sanders grasped his arm with a sudden movement, perfectly evident to the astounded girls.
“When you are tired of your bargain, Elmer Townsend,” he said, “just let me know.”
CHAPTER VII
THE SPECIAL SALE
They had worked like slaves, according to Nancy, while Ted insisted he was too tired even to eat.
“But it’s going to be a grand success,” promised Ruth. “I can hardly wait until morning for the doors to open.”
“Sale now going on!” chanted Isabel, a friend of Ruth’s, who had come in to help. “Ladies and gentlemen! Step this way for your fish lines!” she called out, testing the possibilities of the next day’s special sale. “Here’s where you get your fish-hooks that never slip, and your tackle that always tacks, and as for sinkers—”
“You’ll sink, first shot,” Ruth interrupted, from her perch on the stepladder, where she was waving a Japanese lantern as if that flimsy article had anything to do with fishing tackle.
“Oh say! Look here! Who took my best reel?” cried Ted. “I want that for myself. It was in a dollar box—”
“Then it’s got to be sold,” called back Nancy. She was sitting on the counter counting fish lines, a dozen to each box.