CHAPTER III

WESTERN STUFF


Saturday proved all that his black forebodings had pictured it--a
day of sordid, harassing toil; toil, moreover, for which Gashwiler,
the beneficiary, showed but the scantest appreciation. Indeed, the
day opened with a disagreement between the forward-looking clerk and
his hide-bound reactionary. Gashwiler had reached the store at his
accustomed hour of 8:30 to find Merton embellishing the bulletin
board in front with legends setting forth especial bargains of the
day to be had within.

Chalk in hand, he had neatly written, "See our new importation of
taffetas, $2.59 the yard." Below this he was in the act of putting
down, "Try our choice Honey-dew spinach, 20 cts. the can." "Try our
Preferred Chipped Beef, 58 cts. the pound."

He was especially liking that use of "the." It sounded modern. Yet
along came Gashwiler, as if seeking an early excuse to nag, and
criticized this.

"Why don't you say 'a yard,' 'a can,' 'a pound'?" he demanded
harshly. "What's the sense of that there 'the' stuff? Looks to me
like just putting on a few airs. You keep to plain language and our
patrons'll like it a lot better." Viciously Merton Gill rubbed out
the modern "the" and substituted the desired "a."

"Very well," he assented, "if you'd rather stick to the old-