Every village has its ramshackle, disused store building. Coldriver had
one, especially well located, and not so ramshackle as it might have
been. It was big; its front was crossed by a broad porch; its show
windows were not show windows at all, but were put there solely to give
light. Coldriver did not know there was such a thing as inviting
patronage by skillful display.

"Sonny," said Scattergood to a boy digging worms in the shade of the
building, "who owns this here ruin?"

"Old Tom Plummer," said the boy, and was even able to disclose where old
Tom was to be found. Scattergood found him feeding a dozen White
Orpingtons.

"Best layers a man can keep," said Scattergood, sincerely. "Man's got to
have brains to even raise chickens."

"I git more eggs to the hen than anybody else in town," said old Tom,
"but nobody listens to me."

"Own a store buildin' downtown, don't you?"

"Calc'late to."

"If you was to git a chance to rent it, how much would it be a month?"

"Repairs or no repairs?"

"No repairs."