"We've had the police," I said, drearily enough. "I wouldn't live
through another day like yesterday for a hundred dollars."

"We were held up by the snow," he explained. "We got a sleigh to come
over in, but we walked up the hill and came here. I don't mind saying
that my wife's people don't know about this yet, and we're going to lay
low until we've cooked up some sort of a scheme to tell them." Then he
came over and put his hand on my shoulder.

"Poor old Minnie!" he said; "honest, I'm sorry. I've been a hard child
to raise, haven't I? But that's all over, Minnie. I've got an incentive
now, and it's 'steady, old boy,' for me from now. You and I will run the
place and run it right."

"I don't want to!" I retorted, holding my bedroom slippers to steam
before the fire. "I'm going to buy out Timmon's candy store and live a
quiet life, Mr. Dick. This place is making me old."

"Nonsense! We're going to work together, and we'll make this the busiest
spot in seven counties. Dorothy and I have got it all planned out and
we've got some corking good ideas." He put his hands in his pockets and
strutted up and down. "It's the day of advertising, you know, Minnie,"
he said. "You've got to have the goods, and then you've got to
let people know you've got the goods. What would you say to a
shooting-gallery in the basement, under the reading-room?"

"Fine!" I said, with sarcasm, turning my slippers. "If things got
too quiet that would wake them up a bit, and we could have a balloon
ascension on Saturdays!"