In half an hour Mark came up to the front of the store and we stopped talking to listen to him.

“We n-never can raise five hundred dollars just by s-sellin’ things over the counter—not in the time that’s left to us before Jehoshaphat P. Skip’s chattel mortgage is due. Even sales and schemes for makin’ folks buy more won’t be enough.”

“That’s as good as sayin’ we’re busted,” says I.

“C-close to it,” says Mark.

“Be you givin’ up?” I says.

“No. And what’s more I hain’t goin’ to give up till Jehoshaphat P. wishes he never heard of Wicksville. But just ordinary retailin’ won’t save our b-bacon. We’ve got to get in a lump of money somehow.”

“Let’s be gettin’ at it then,” says I.

“If this man Skip only had p-played fair,” says Mark. “But he hasn’t. Fellers, he’s the right-down meanest man I ever heard of.... And that’s the only excuse we g-got for makin’ use of the scheme I’ve got ready. We got to use every way that’s honest—even if it is sort of m-mean. Maybe it hain’t right for me to feel that way, but the meaner the thing is the better I like to do it to him.”

“Same here,” says I.

“I was hopin’ to save up this scheme,” says he, “and maybe not use it at all. But we g-got to. So come on.”

“Where?” says I.

“Lawyer Sturgis’s,” says he.

Mark and I went across the street and climbed up to Mr. Sturgis’s office. He was one of those dignified men that always wear silk hats and long coats that flop around their knees, and he talked like he’d been exposed to grammar and rhetoric and had caught them both so bad he couldn’t be cured. He made speeches at election-times and at any other times when there was any excuse. For that matter, everything he said came close to being a speech. My, my, but he was a talker! He knew words that the man who made the dictionary hasn’t heard of yet. But folks said he was a good lawyer and honest and dependable. They said other things about him, too—that he was good. In spite of the high-and-mighty way he carried himself, and the way he barked at folks, he was said to be the kind of man who goes out of his way to do folks a favor. Heaps of poor folks had got law from him without paying a cent. Everybody in Wicksville laughed at him a little—and liked him a heap. Wicksville folks could laugh at him if they wanted to, but you let a man from Sunfield come over and start to make fun of Lawyer Sturgis and there’d be a fight in a second. It makes a heap of difference who does the laughing.

Well, we knocked at his door and he yelled to come in so loud people could have heard it across the street. We went right in. He was sitting in front of his desk, with one hand shoved through the front of his vest and the other on his hip—just like pictures of the signing of the Declaration of Independence; and he was frowning like pictures of Daniel Webster.

“Ah-ha!” says he, “what have we here? To what, if I may be permitted to inquire, do I owe the honor of this call? Ha! Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus Tidd, is it not? Indeed! And young Smalley. Will you enter and be seated?”

We entered and were seated.

“Now,” says Lawyer Sturgis, “let us to business, laying aside all our several and conflicting employments. You have, I judge, come to consult me professionally. Am I right?”

“You are r-right,” says Mark. “It’s about Jehoshaphat P. Skip.”

“Ah, indeed! Jehoshaphat P. Skip! Extraordinary individual.”

“It’s about that lease, Mr. Sturgis, the one you h-helped me get the other day.”

“To be sure. I recall the circumstance. And now, may I ask, what do you desire concerning this so-called lease?”

“I want to shoot it off,” says Mark.

“What?” says Mr. Sturgis. “You want—what do you want to do to it? Shoot it off, did you say?”

“Yes, sir. Don’t you remember sayin’ it was a regular gun pointed at Jehoshaphat P. Skip’s head? Well, sir, I want to sh-shoot it off.”

“Hum! Figure of speech, eh? I did not follow you. I did not recall my own metaphor. Good. Your wit is nimble, my young friend.”

“We’ve g-got to have some money—a chunk of it,” says Mark. “We had quite a bit in the bank, but we had to send it to Plunk’s father for an operation. I th-thought maybe we could use that lease to raise quite a bit—maybe more’n a hundred dollars.”

“How? What method did you contemplate?” says Mr. Sturgis.

At this I broke into the talk. “What’s this all about?” I asked. “I’m hearin’ about leases and sich-like, but I don’t know what leases nor nothin’.”

“Remember the d-day I went into the country?” says Mark.

“Yes.”

“I drove out to see Sheridan Mogford, who owns the store Skip is in. I f-found out Skip didn’t have a lease. He just rents it by the month. If he had a lease we couldn’t do anything. A lease is a kind of a written agreement that says how long a man can rent a p-piece of property at so much a month. If Skip had a lease for a year he could keep on s-stayin’ in that store a year and we c-couldn’t interfere with him. But he didn’t have. He said he didn’t want to get tied up to any lease till he found out how business was. So he just rents by the m-month.”

“All right,” says I, “but what of it?”

“Why, I w-went out to see Mr. Mogford and I talked to him and told him how Skip had acted to us—and I got him to make out a lease of Skip’s store to Mr. Sturgis, here. Only, really, it was to us. Mr. Sturgis has his name there in our place like. He’s our—what-d’you-call-it?”

“Attorney-in-fact,” says Mr. Sturgis. “In simpler language—your agent.”

“Hum!” says I. “Pretty mixed up for me.”

Mark grunted. “Why,” says he, “when we got that lease we were entitled to move into the store. But we’d have to give Skip a m-month’s notice. We could force him out—and there isn’t another store in Wicksville f-for him to go to. See?”

“Let’s do it,” says I. “That’ll fix everything.”

Mark shook his head. “That wouldn’t f-fix anythin’,” says he. “What’d happen? We’d have Skip out of b-business, but we’d still owe him f-five hundred dollars on that chattel mortgage. And we’d be stuck for the rent of two stores, because we’d have to pay rent where the Bazar is now and for Skip’s store, too. Be worse off’n ever.”

“Then what good is your old lease, anyhow?”

“I g-got it in the beginning because I knew it would come in handy. I d-didn’t know just how I’d use it. But I know now.”

“How?”

“I’m g-goin’ to make Mr. Skip pay himself part of that five hundred dollars. Wish I could make him pay himself all of it.”

“What method of procedure have you chosen?” asked Mr. Sturgis.

“I f-figgered it out you could get Skip over here and tell him about the lease and make him pungle over. You can sell the lease, can’t you? Can’t you sell it to him like it was a horse or cow or a p-piece of property?”

“A lease, my young friend, is a piece of property and is so recognized by law. We can follow your suggestion. How much do you consider your lease to be worth?”

“H-haven’t any idee, but we want to git all we can. Hundred dollars at least.”

“I am confident we can secure a greater sum than that. Possibly two hundred dollars.”

“F-fine,” says Mark, and his eyes glistened. “We won’t let him know we have anything to do with it—not now. But won’t he be hoppin’ mad when he finds out he’s gone and bought that chattel mortgage and then has had to p-pay it himself? Won’t he, though? Oh, my!”

The scheme hadn’t been very clear to me, but I saw it now. Mark could make Skip move out of his store, and Skip would lose a lot of money if he had to move, because there wasn’t any place else for him to go in Wicksville. The only way he could stay and run his store was to buy that lease from Mark. Well, sir, I don’t know how Mark thinks up schemes like that, but he does. This was such a bully scheme, because it couldn’t help working. I made up my mind I’d ask him how he came to think of it, because a fellow his age hasn’t business understanding about leases and law and such things.

“I g-guess you’d better send for Mr. Skip and break the news to him,” says Mark, “and,” says he, “I wish Plunk and I could be in the next room where we c-could hear it.”

Mr. Sturgis almost smiled. I bet he would have smiled right out if he hadn’t practised being dignified so many years his face wouldn’t work the way it used to. But his eyes smiled and the corners of his mouth wiggled a little.

“To be sure,” said he; “right in there. Leave the door ajar and you can hear perfectly. I can—I can readily appreciate your desire to witness the demeanor of Mr. Skip in the circumstances you have arranged for him. I’ll send my boy over for him at once.”

Mark and I went into the next room as soon as we saw Jehoshaphat P. Skip coming down the street, but we left the door open about an inch so we would be sure to hear. Mark got down on all-fours and put his ear to the crack. I stood over him. Mark was heaving and rolling all over him, he was so tickled. It was one of those laughs of his without any noise to it. I felt pretty tickled myself.

In a minute Skip came into Mr. Sturgis’s office and said good afternoon and wanted to know why he was sent for.

“It is in reference to the store you occupy at present,” said Mr. Sturgis. “You have no lease, as the facts come to me, but only rent from month to month.”

“Exactly,” says Skip. “What of it?”

“The store has been leased to another party,” says Mr. Sturgis.

“Leased? How can they lease it? Hain’t I occupyin’ it? Say, what you talkin’ about, anyhow?”

“Other parties approached Mr. Mogford, owner of the building; he has granted them a lease for a period of two years. The next proceeding on the part of my client will be to notify you to leave the premises in thirty days.”

Well, sir, you should have seen Skip! His long neck looked like it stretched six inches to get his head closer to Mr. Sturgis, and his pinkish hair bristled, and his little squinty eyes snapped and glittered. Then he caught hold of his nose like he always does when he is excited and began bending it back and forth till I thought likely he’d crack it off.

“Who’s gone and sneaked behind my back and got that lease? Hey? What slinkin’, underhanded, sheep-stealin’ pirate did me sich a mean trick? It’s agin the law, I tell you. ’Tain’t honest. I’ll git me a lawyer and show you. That’s what I’ll do.”

“As far as that point is concerned,” says Mr. Sturgis, “my client is amply protected by the laws of this state. As for any action you may take with reference to keeping possession of this property, my client will be perfectly able to meet you and, if I may say so, to cause you to regret such a waste of time and money. The lease belongs to my client. If he wishes to force you out in thirty days, he will be able to do so.”

“But where’ll I go? What’ll I do? I got money invested here. There hain’t another store to move to.”

“That, Mr. Skip, does not, so to speak, worry my client. Indeed, if I be not wrongly informed, my client would not object to causing you a trifle of annoyance.”

“Who is your client? Who is he?”

“I am not at liberty to state.”

“He’s a skinflint, that’s what he is. What kind of a way of doin’ business is this, anyhow? ’Tain’t fair. ’Tain’t just. No business man would treat another like this.”

“H’m! I’m not so sure, Mr. Skip. While we’re on that subject I might say I’ve heard of dealings of your own that might have been more upright. I have been informed, Mr. Skip, that you have resorted to means which are, to say the least, reprehensible. I, sir, have been practising law in Wicksville for thirty-five years. I can assure you, sir, that, had I not considered my client justified in the course he follows in this matter, I should have declined to act for him. I do believe him justified. I believe, sir, that it will do you no harm, sir, to have, so to speak, a dose of your own medicine.”

Skip got up out of his chair and paced up and down and waggled his nose and craned his neck. He just didn’t know what to do. He was scared and excited and mad—my! my! but he was mad! He was caught, and he knew it. You could tell by his face he knew it, and you could see he was pretty wrought up with himself for not getting a lease in the beginning. The more he walked up and down and thought it over the more scared he got—scared of losing some money. Pretty soon he stopped before Mr. Sturgis and says:

“I can’t move, Mr. Sturgis. I’ve got to stay in that store. Won’t you see your client and find out if we can’t make some sort of an arrangement? Say, won’t you do that, Mr. Sturgis?” He was all worked up and his voice sounded like he was going to break down and cry.

I looked down at Mark. His face had an expression I never saw on it before—sort of grim. He didn’t look like he was enjoying the misery Skip was in. That wasn’t his expression at all. But he did look like he was doing something he knew he ought to do, and was getting satisfaction out of it. I suppose maybe a general looks like that when he catches one of his officers being a traitor and orders him to be executed. Yes, that’s the sort of look it was.

“I have full authority to deal with you,” says Mr. Sturgis. “Though my client may think you deserve to be ejected, he will not object if I take less severe measures. What, if anything, would you suggest?”

“Can’t—can’t I buy the lease? Won’t he sell it to me?”

“Well, now, Mr. Skip, possibly something of that sort could be arranged. How much, for instance, would you be willing to pay for the lease?”

“Fifty dollars.”

“A-hem! Fifty dollars. Ah, you consider the lease worth fifty dollars, do you? I, on my part, believe it is worth more than that to my client. I think I do not make a misstatement when I say my client would rather keep his lease than sell it for that amount.”

“Seventy-five.”

“Mr. Skip, if it is going to mean a severe money loss to you to move, if there is no other store building in Wicksville, it seems to me your offer, considering the circumstances, is low—too low.”

“What do you want, then? How much? If it’s too high I may as well move. I’d rather lose my money moving than to give it to a man that rigged up a scheme to hold me up, anyhow.”

That sort of scared me and I nudged Mark, but he shook his head for me to be quiet.

“Two hundred dollars is the price, Mr. Skip. That is final. You can take it or leave it. My time, I may say, is of value. You have used considerable of it. Two hundred dollars. Is it yes or no?”

Skip thought a moment, and wriggled like there was a burr inside his shirt, and groaned, but he came around.

“It’s a skin game,” says he, “and a hold-up, but I’ll pay it.”

“All right,” says Mr. Sturgis. “Pay it, then.”

That was the shortest and most businesslike speech I ever heard him make. He pulled the lease out of his pocket and waited. Skip, still muttering and mumbling and groaning, took out his check-book and wrote a check. Then Mr. Sturgis signed the lease over to him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Skip,” says Mr. Sturgis. “I hope you will ponder over this transaction. You will find material for thought in it, I am certain. In Wicksville we believe in competition, in fair competition. We believe in doing by others as we would like to have others do by us. An old saying, Mr. Skip. In this instance you have had done to you what you have done to others.... It is not, I believe I am safe in saying, particularly pleasant. Good afternoon, Mr. Skip.”

Skip grabbed the lease and plunged out of the door and down the stairs. As soon as it was safe Mark and I came out. I was almost busted open with curiosity.

“Say, Mark,” says I, “how in tunket did you think up that scheme? How’d you ever hear about leases and sich? And law?”

“I d-dun’no’s I know much about ’em,” says Mark. “When I went to see Mr. Mogford I wasn’t more’n half sure what a lease was. It all come from readin’ the papers. There was a big lawsuit in Detroit about leases, and I read accounts of it. It told consid’able. Then I asked around some. Perty soon I come to the conclusion there was somethin’ to it.... And that’s all.”

“Um!” says Mr. Sturgis. “Um!... Young man, have you chosen a profession? Have you, if I may put it so, chosen the walk of life you will follow?”

“Why,” says Mark, “don’t b’lieve I have. I’ve got to g-go to college first.”

“I advise you, my young friend, to consider the law. I do. Should you decide to enter this most dignified and pleasant profession and return to Wicksville to practise, I shall be glad, exceedingly glad, to have you in my office—with a view to partnership at an early date. You are young, my friend, but years soon pass. How old might you be?”

“Almost s-s-sixteen,” says Mark.

“In six or seven years you will be ready.... Think it over.”

“Thank you, sir,” says Mark. “I’ll think about it, but I guess, so far’s I can see, I sort of l-like business. I calc’late to go into business, buyin’ and sellin’. I hain’t sure, yet, but that’s how I’ve been figgerin’.”

We talked a minute more with Mr. Sturgis, and then went back to the store. It was time, for it was Saturday and things were beginning to liven up.