“And did you see me handle the sugar-scoop?” asked Dick. “I believe I was cut out for a storekeeper, fellows.”
“We’ll have to order some more kerosene soon,” remarked Roy. “I pumped the tank almost dry filling the old farmer’s can for him. Where do we buy our kerosene?”
“Standard Oil Company,” answered Chub, promptly. “I’ll drop a note to Mr. Rockefeller this evening. I wonder what she keeps gasolene for?”
“Maybe for automobiles,” suggested Harry.
“I don’t believe an automobile ever stopped in this village,” Chub replied.
“Plenty of them go by, though,” Dick said. “I’ve seen four this afternoon. I think this is the main road along here, isn’t it?”
“What we ought to do,” announced Chub, “is to let them know that we keep it. We ought to put a sign out. Wait a minute.”
He went out into the back yard and rummaged around until he found a board some four feet long by ten inches wide. He brought it in and pulled a marking-pot and brush from under the counter.
“Now then,” he said as he dipped the brush and began to print, “here goes for the automobile trade!” Five minutes later the sign was done and they were nailing it to the corner of the store, where it was visible for a hundred yards up the road. Chub had lettered it as follows: