Bert, taking a soiled cloth from a table, swung around. "Where? I haven't seen him."
"He just walked away. That's the third time he's been looking in our window. What's the matter with him?"
Bert did not know. Bill Harrison had told him that Mr. Clud had been snooping around the doorway. He was mystified.
"He can't have much business to attend to," Sam said irritably, "if he's got to come around trying to mind ours. The next time he does it I'll ask him what he wants."
But Old Man Clud did not appear at the window again.
The day grew dark and they turned on the lights.
"Going home for supper?" Sam asked.
"Sure." Bert looked at him in surprise. "Why?"
"There's some of this stuff we won't sell to-day. It may not keep over Sunday. We might as well eat it ourself."
Not wishing to be at a table should a customer enter, they ate in the rear, setting their plates on the three-burner gas stove. Bert washed the dishes, put them away and came down to the door. Washington Avenue was filled with Saturday night shoppers. Back and forth they went along the sidewalk, each one a potential spender of cash. Now and then somebody came in, but the waits in
