Judy laughed. “I thought you were the one who wanted to leave—Just listen to them!” she exclaimed.
Mr. Sammis was waving his arms and shouting, “You get out of here with that stuff! How can I buy any more when my shop is crowded already? Take it to some junk dealer.”
“But Sam,” the other protested in an equally loud tone of voice, “this is good furniture. I’ve sanded and refinished everything—”
“Well, you can’t move it in here!”
“He may be an old meanie,” Holly commented, “but Mr. Sammis is right. He certainly doesn’t have room for any more furniture.”
“Not unless he has an addition built on his shop. He could certainly use it,” Judy said with a last glance at the sheared-off house as they drove away.
Holly agreed. “He probably makes most of his money charging people for things they don’t break.”
“He may make money that way, but he won’t make friends,” declared Judy. “Do you think he really intends to send Dad a bill for twenty dollars?”
“He’s so mean he might do it. How did he know your name, Judy?”
“Oh, my picture’s been in the paper,” Judy replied airily. Then her face sobered. “He must be one of Dad’s patients. Dad can’t choose them, you know. He just goes where he’s needed and hopes the people will pay.”