people to get interested in your business again, Bert."
"Next month?" He was on the point of saying that next month would be too late, but checked himself and went off to school. That day he flunked in every subject.
Two days before Christmas Bill Harrison came to the store, bought a plate of ice cream, and ate it as though he had something on his mind. "I got a letter to-day from Tom Woods," he said at length. "He asked me to find out how you're making it. I'm going to write an answer to-night."
That the Butterfly Man had sent Bill on this errand meant that Bill knew the facts. Bert spread his hands in a sweep that took in the whole place. "You're the first customer in two hours," he said.
Bill pushed his plate across the counter. "Another," he said. With the refilled dish before him, he toyed with his spoon. "Sam certainly ran you up a fine alley, didn't he?"
"Sam's losing his money, too," said Bert.
Bill looked at him shrewdly. "As much as you?"
"N . . . no. He's been drawing out two dollars to my one."
"Why?"
"Well, it was his idea. . . ."
"He's certainly been getting paid pretty liberally for a burn idea," Bill drawled, and finished
