He turned away for a moment, and then showed his face again, the same old Jack with the laughing eyes, and pleasant, honest mouth.
“Tell on,” said Cornelius, who had dropped his hatchet, and drawn near. “Be quick and tell us,” he added breathlessly.
“Well, there is the tool-house,” said Jack. “Funny old hole, but just the thing for us. Now what’s to hinder our setting up a shop in it, and selling things?”
“Real true-as-you-live things,” cried Rosalie, “with counters, string, and brown paper bags?” “And five cent pieces, and cents and quarters?” screamed Cornelius on his highest key. “Whickets! why didn’t we think of it before? But where’d we get the things to sell with? Phoh! your news isn’t anything, after all; only just an old dried-up joke.” He was so disgusted, that he went back, picked up his hatchet, and fell to slowly hacking again. Jack flung himself up to Rosalie’s side on the bench.
“Now see here, both of you. The thing can be done, if we will all club together, and work hard. It’s not to be a success in a day, mind you, but we’ve got to pull hard, and at it all the time. Are you willing to do it for mammy’s sake?”
“Can’t we have any time for play?” asked Rosalie with a long face.
“Perhaps; but there won’t be much,” said Jack, “if we make a good thing of this.”
“Well, I s’pose you and I are the men of this family,” said Cornelius, over his log, “and so if you’ll just say how the money’s coming to begin with, why, I’ll give you my word, I’ll keep at it.”
“We want Rosalie,” said Jack, kindly; “we can’t do anything without her.”
“Why, she’s nothing but a girl,” said Cornelius, still pummeling; “it takes men to keep store and make money.”