We walked along until we came to the building I meant. It was wood with a false front—jest one story, but made to look like it had two, and there was an iron hitching-rail in front of it. There was a good-sized store and a small shop right next to it and opening into it. It was kind of run down and needed painting and a window or so, but it was on Main Street, and a good corner, too. Used to be a bakery there, but it went out of business and nobody had rented it since. “That ’ll do fine,” says Catty. “Dad kin use the big store for paints and wall-papers and sich like, and I kin use the little shop.” “What for?” says I. “Oh,” says he, “so’s I kin sort of have a little business of my own and maybe make a dollar or two. I kin tend it and Dad’s store, too, when he’s out on a job.” “Seems to me like you was cuttin’ out quite a spell of work for yourself,” says I. “I wonder if there’s rooms behind where we kin live?” says he. So we took a look, and there were rooms there—four of them—a kitchen and a dining-room and two bedrooms. “Jest suits,” says Catty. “Who owns her?” “Mr. Gage,” says I, with a chuckle. Catty looked at me and then he grinned. “Guess maybe I better see him ’fore his wife gits a chance to talk to him to-night like she said she was going to. Where’s he at?” “Runs the grocery up the street.” We walked right up there and found Mr. Gage shooing flies off the fruit up in front. “Howdy-do, Mr. Gage?” says I. “This is my friend, Catty Atkins.” “Howdy?” says Mr. Gage. “What kin I do for you?” “I’m sorter running errands for my Dad,” says Catty. “He’s goin’ into business here, and wants to find out about that store buildin’ of you down the street.” “What business?” says Mr. Gage. “Paintin’ and decoratin’,” says Catty. “Jest come to town?” “Yes. What rent do you ask?” “Figger I ought to git twenty dollars a month for that buildin’.” “Give you seventeen and a half,” says Catty, “and take it for not less ’n a year.” “Rent payable in advance,” says Mr. Gage, cautious-like. “We take it from the first of the month. Pay a month’s rent the mornin’ we move in. That all right?” “Calc’late so.” “Write it,” says Catty. “Eh?” “Set it down in pen and ink, so’s I kin show it to Dad and he’ll know I’ve done what’s right,” says Catty. So Mr. Gage went in and wrote it down like Catty said, and signed his name to it. After that we went on hunting up ladders, but we didn’t find any. It got supper-time and I left Catty and went home. About nine o’clock that night our door-bell rang, and I went, and it was Catty. He looked mad and he looked queer and he looked worried. “Jest come over to tell you the town marshal just come to our house and ordered us to git out of town within forty-eight hours. Says as how he’ll put us in the calaboose for vagrants if we don’t move on.” “What you goin’ to do?” says I, too surprised and hit all of a heap to even say I was sorry.