"Well, bein's you didn't want me to go, I s'pose you've somebody in
mind. Suit yourself, as us'al."
"Well, I've thought it all over, an' I think Billy Ricker's our man.
He'll be over from Montrose to-morrow an' I'll talk it over with him.
We've got that Montrose trade so solid he can be spared from there
now. Guess there ain't any trade tonight or Bob would have called us
in afore this."
"Ef we sold cord wood we might be doin' somethin'," and, laughing in
his old way at his own joke, Hiram started to follow his partner into
the store.
"Say, Hiram," called out Strout in a loud voice, "bring in them two
chairs--everything's occupied out here 'cept the counter."
As the proprietors took their seats, the store door was opened again,
this time admitting Mr. Abner Stiles. His teeth were chattering, and
he stamped his feet upon the floor, and beat his hands against his
shoulders in old-fashioned country style.
"Moses Williams!" he cried. "I kinder think the North Pole must have
slid down an' come to stop in this 'ere town. I say, Strout, if that
organ of yourn was pumped to-night you'd have to play 'From
Greenland's Icy Mountains,' or some sech tune."
"Where have you been?" asked Mr. Strout.
"Hain't been nowhere. Jes' came from the Pettingill house. Young
Master Sawyer wants some brown sugar to make some candy. Give me five
pounds.
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