"Belcher has come over and is listenin', glarin' hostile at the woman. 'It's Mrs. Burke, the one whose sons are in the army,' whispers Vee."
"I'll bet you've got old Belcher frothin' through his ears," says I.
"I hope so," says Vee.
The followin' Monday, though, he comes back at her with his big push. He had the whole front of his store plastered with below-cost bulletins.
"Pooh!" says Vee. "I can have signs like that painted, too."
And she did. It didn't bother her a bit if her stock ran out. She kept up on the cut-rate game, and when people asked for things she didn't have she just sent 'em to Belcher's.
Maybe you saw what some of the papers printed. Course, they joshed the ladies more or less, but also they played up a peppery interview with Belcher which got him in bad with everybody. Vee wasn't so pleased at the publicity stuff, but she didn't squeal.
What was worryin' me some was how soon the grand smash was comin'. I knew that the campaign fund had been whittled into considerable, and now that prices had been slashed there was no chance for profits.