"I have no interest here at all, señor," repeated the little man, concealing a yawn with his fingers. "I'm just a clerk."
Strawbridge broke into cheerful irritation:
"Why, damn it, man! if you'll make this business your own, some day it will be your own. Right here is your chance to use your initiative, throw some pep into this establishment. Get this thing moving and you'll be the headliner around here." Strawbridge gave the prospective headliner a cheerful blow on the shoulder, designed to knock energy into him. A constructive impulse seized the American: "Say, I'm quite a lad when it comes to window-dressing. Let's bundle a lot of this stuff out front and fix up something of a scream by the time the old man arrives!" Like a benevolent giant Strawbridge beamed down on the little clerk. Next moment he had caught up an armful of ropes, plow points, hoes, and door hinges and was lugging them toward the front of the store.
The feather of a clerk tried to resist the American whirlwind.
"But, señor, wait one minute! Nombre de Dios! Señor, for God's sake stop! What you are doing is mad!"
Strawbridge was annoyed.
"Mad the devil! It's the only sensible thing in Canalejos; give your joint a prosperous, up-to-date look."
"But, señor, we don't want to look prosperous and up to date."
"What!" The American was scandalized. "Don't want to look up to date! What's eating you?"