"That's short and sweet. Owed you somethin',
I presume likely?"
Jed nodded. "Seventeen dollars and three cents," he admitted,
between the remaining nails.
"Sho! Well, if you could get the seventeen dollars you'd throw off
the three cents, wouldn't you?"
"No-o."
"You wouldn't? Why not?"
Jed pried a crookedly driven nail out again and substituted a fresh
one.
"Can't afford to," he drawled. "That's the part I'll probably
get."
"Guess you're right. Who's this John Holway?"
"Eh. . . . Why, when he ordered the mills of me last summer he was
president of the Funny Novelty Company up there to Manchester."
"Good Lord! Well, I admire his nerve. How did you come to sell
these--er--Funny folks, in the first place?"
Mr. Winslow looked surprised.
"Why, they wrote and sent an order," he replied.
"Did, eh? And you didn't think of lookin' 'em up to see whether
they was good for anything or good for nothin'? Just sailed in and
hurried off the stuff, I presume likely?"
Jed nodded. "Why--why, yes, of course," he said. "You see, they
said they wanted it right away."
His friend groaned. "Gracious king!" he exclaimed. "How many
times have I told you to let me look up credits for you when you
get an order from a stranger? Well, there's no use talkin' to you.
Give me this letter. I'll see what I can squeeze out of your Funny
friend.
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