Stucker had worked out elaborate sets of figures to prove the needed economies of management.
He was so tireless and sincere, so careful and exact, that it was with a great sense of relief that Sam turned the store over to him.
Here, at last, was a man who could lift from his shoulders the daily burden of management.
Sam’s real interest in the change, as those who knew him might have guessed, was a desire for new enterprise. He had long had an eye on a fine opening for a clothing store in the neighboring town of Bridgeville, twenty miles away, and he lost no time in carrying out this project.
During the ensuing year he was so engrossed with the Bridgeville branch that Medeena rarely saw him, and Lemuel Stucker’s rather discouraging reports on the state of business were attributed to Lem’s conservatism and natural depression of mind.
Lem was Sam’s opposite in almost every particular. A small, sallow man with a black shoe-string necktie and a look of general regret.
He spent most of his time untying knots in pieces of string, picking up bits of wrapping paper and sharpening short lead-pencils, and he was great on buying brooms.
His effect on the store was one of immediate and prevalent blight.
You may wonder why the boys did not complain of conditions to Sam, but Lem was manager—and there is something so virtuous and convincing about a first-class retrencher. His wise saws and thrifty sayings are infectious and he makes everybody so low-spirited that they are ready to catch anything.
No more good window displays—tacks, colored cheesecloth and other accessories cost money, and the sun was bad for the goods.