BUSINESS IS PLEASURE

With an air of profound seriousness and businesslike briskness, Townsend jacked up the rear of the flivver, removed the tire and rim, and proceeded to tack strips of emery cloth continuously around the wooden edge of the wheel. Two or three curious children watched him but most of the boarders were too preoccupied watching and listening to Pee-wee to note these preparations.

Our hero planted his flaunting banner between the car and the spacious veranda and stood beneath it as if he were taking possession of the whole place in the name of the Boy Scouts of America. His voice assailed the porch and reached the neighboring lawn and penetrated to the rooms which overlooked it. Here and there, blinds were thrown open revealing the faces of astonished sojourners at the quiet resort.

From one window an agitated old lady hurled a suitcase evidently under the impression that the place was on fire. It landed on Pee-wee’s head which only seemed to push his voice out more forcibly through his mouth.

“Scissors and knives sharpened, ten cents! Scissors and knives sharpened by Townsend Ripley and his shivers slizzer—I mean scissors grinding flivver! Have your knives and scissors and corn-cutters and everything sharpened by the Boy Scouts! Don’t patronize professional flivver sharpeners—I mean scissors sharpeners—they are profiteers. Here you are, bring out anything that’s dull—”

“I’m having a perfectly beastly dull time,” a girl interrupted him. “Can you sharpen that?” Indeed he was already sharpening that, for the guests were all laughing.

“Sure I can sharpen that!” Pee-wee shouted, “Bring it out! Only ten cents!”

“I’m reading a pretty dull novel,” said a lady. “We can sharpen everything,” Pee-wee shouted. “We don’t care what it is. After the sharpening is over we give a special side show exhibition that sharpens dull times and everything—don’t fail to wait and see Scout Ripley and his talking Ford—it dances, it sings, it, it lays down—”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” laughed a man.

But no amount of laughing could drown Pee-wee out. “Have your knives and scissors and pencils and everything sharpened by the Ford that got arrested because a goat ate the auto license! See the letter wrote—written—by Judge Dopett of the highest court that proves our essentials—”

“Credentials,” whispered Townsend.

“I mean credentials,” shouted Pee-wee. “Be able to tell your great grandparents—”

“Children,” whispered Townsend.

“Be able to tell your great grandchildren that you had your scissors sharpened on the famous talking Ford that had its license eaten by a goat! Here you are! Only ten cents. Three for a quarter.” He added as an afterthought.

Dull times must indeed have prevailed at Brookside Villa, for not a knife or scissors was withheld. The raised wheel at which Townsend kneeled whizzed around, sharpening knife after knife and scissors after scissors until there was not a particle of emery left in the emery cloth nor a drop of gasoline in the tank. Still a little pile of familiar domestic implements, which had partaken of the general dullness of the place, lay on the running board of the car awaiting the touch of the whizzing emery. And there was no dullness of any kind at Brookside Villa any more.

Best of all, there was nearly three dollars in the little drinking cup which stood on a stump near the flivver.

It would be hard to determine whether the boarders were better pleased at having the dullness taken out of their knives and scissors or out of their lives, for a while at least. Alas, neither form of dullness would be long in abeyance. The emery treatment would not last long, the entertainment was but the thing of an hour.

But if a laugh isn’t worth ten cents with a sharpened scissors thrown in as a premium, why then a scout might as well beg and be done with it. When you consider the overhead expenses, you can’t make people laugh and sharpen scissors for less than ten cents—it can’t be done.