You admit that money talks. This money is addressing
its remarks to you direct, at this very moment."
The proprietor hesitated, glanced at the money and other articles
that Phil had arrayed so temptingly before him, and turned
reflectively facing the rear of the store.
"I will scribble off a little contract," said Phil softly.
"How much shall we make the consideration?"
"What'll you give?"
"I've got him!" was Phil Forrest's triumphant thought, but he
allowed none of his triumphant feeling to appear in his face.
"Well, were I making the offer I should say the wall was worth
about forty dollars, no other bills to appear on it until
after my show has left town. But I told you to help yourself.
I'll stick to my word."
"Count me out forty dollars and take it. I like your style.
Your way of doing business makes a hit with me."
Phil inserted the agreed-upon price in the contract.
"Just sign your name there, please," he said, still in that soft,
persuasive voice.
The storekeeper read the brief contract through, nodded
approvingly, then affixed his signature with the fountain pen
that Phil had handed to him.
This done, the lad counted out forty dollars, stowed the rest
away in his pockets, together with his other belongings, then
extended his hand cordially to the proprietor.
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