"
"Did he pay you?" asked Phil sweetly.
"No."
"Did you sign a contract with him?"
"No."
"May I ask how much he is to give you for the privilege?"
"Twenty-five dollars."
"He ought to be ashamed to offer you such a mean figure as that
for such a privilege."
The proprietor grew interested.
"Where has he gone?"
"Said he had to talk with someone back with the show by long
distance telephone before he could close the bargain."
Phil glanced apprehensively at the door.
"I guess you had better sell the privilege to me while you have
the chance. He may not come back, you know; then you will be out
all around."
"I couldn't think of it. I gave him the privilege of buying
the wall."
"Money talks, doesn't it, sir?"
"It does, young man. It always makes such a loud noise around me
that I can't hear much of anything else."
Phil grinned.
"Yes; it's pretty noisy stuff."
The lad calmly drew a big roll of bills from his pocket, placing
it on the counter before the storekeeper. To the pile he added
his watch, a jackknife, a bunch of keys and a silver matchbox.
"Help yourself," he begged calmly.
"Wha--what?" gasped the storekeeper.
"I said help yourself. I want that wall. I leave it to you to
say what is a reasonable price for it--a price fair to you and
to me.
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