“We’ll have to order some more kerosene soon,” remarked Roy. “I pumped the tank almost dry filling the old farmer’s can for him. Where do we buy our kerosene?” “Standard Oil Company,” answered Chub, promptly. “I’ll drop a note to Mr. Rockefeller this evening. I wonder what she keeps gasolene for?” “Maybe for automobiles,” suggested Harry. “I don’t believe an automobile ever stopped in this village,” Chub replied. “Plenty of them go by, though,” Dick said. “I’ve seen four this afternoon. I think this is the main road along here, isn’t it?” “What we ought to do,” announced Chub, “is to let them know that we keep it. We ought to put a sign out. Wait a minute.” He went out into the back yard and rummaged around until he found a board some four feet long by ten inches wide. He brought it in and pulled a marking-pot and brush from under the counter. “Now then,” he said as he dipped the brush and began to print, “here goes for the automobile trade!” Five minutes later the sign was done and they were nailing it to the corner of the store, where it was visible for a hundred yards up the road. Chub had lettered it as follows: HEADQUARTERS FOR AUTOMOBILISTS GASOLENE AND SUPPLIES But Chub wasn’t yet satisfied. On the back of a piece of cardboard he printed “Midsummer Sale!” This he placed in one of the windows, saying, “I’m pretty certain that Mrs. Peel is asking a heap less than her husband did. You see, there’s a store some place near here that’s getting her trade away from her, and it’s safe to say she’s marked things pretty low.” “How about your automobile supplies?” asked Roy. “What do you mean?” “I didn’t say ‘automobile supplies,’” answered Chub. “I said ‘gasolene and supplies’. We’ve got all sorts of supplies, haven’t we? ‘Supplies’ means crackers and cheese and such things just as much as it does carburetors, doesn’t it?” “I suppose so, but it sounds sort of misleading.” “Well, if you come right down to it, we’ve got plenty of things automobilists use. We’ve got grease and wrenches and files and pliers--and water--” “That’s right,” agreed Dick. “We don’t claim to have a full line of supplies. We’re short on goggles, pink veils, spark-plugs, and extra tires.” “Wouldn’t it be lovely,” asked Harry, “if a big automobile should stop and buy a whole lot of things?” “Yes, say about fifty gallons of gasolene, a dozen files, half a dozen wrenches, and a pail of water!” laughed Chub. “Well, they might buy something,” replied Harry, cheerfully. “And if any one should ask for a pink veil I’d show them the mosquito netting.” “Harry, you’ve missed your vocation,” Roy laughed. “You should have been a shopkeeper. Hello, what’s that?”