“It’s mighty mean,” says I. “What you goin’ to do about it?” “I’ll tell you what I’m goin’ to do,” says he. “I’m goin’ to stay right here in this town, and _prove_ to folks that Dad and I are jest as good as they be. I’m goin’ to git work in spite of them, and I’m goin’ to beat them. You see. I’ll stay if I have to starve. Dad and me has got a right to work and to be decent and respectable like anybody else. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t. We never done anybody any wrong. Bein’ shiftless hain’t a crime, and, anyhow, we’ve quit bein’ shiftless.” “Well?” says I. “I got to git at somethin’ mighty quick. These women ’ll go visitin’ and talkin’ around, and ’fore I know it they’ll have the whole town ag’in’ us. Before they git that far I’ve got to find jobs to keep us busy while we’re provin’ to ’em that we’re fit to live here amongst them.... I won’t leave this town! You listen to me, Wee-wee, I won’t!” “Bully for you!” says I. “All the women won’t follow Mrs. Gage, and there’s some bachelors that hain’t married to anybody and that women can’t run.” We listened again. Maybe it wasn’t right to listen to folks talk when they didn’t know you were listening, but I guess we didn’t do so very wrong, especially when they were talking like those women did. Another woman—Mrs. Bockers was her name—spoke up and says: “I’ve got a cousin, a young fellow that is a painter and paperhanger. I’ll try to get him to move over here and go into business. He’s just working around. If we would all agree to give him our work, I’m sure he would come, and then it would be a lot easier to get rid of these tramps.” “That’s a splendid idea,” says Mrs. Gage. “I’ll write to him to-night,” says Mrs. Bockers. “I know he’ll come.” “Competition,” says I to Catty, “is the life of trade.” “Hain’t got no objection to competition, so long’s we both git a fair start.... I wish Dad and me had some money to start right with. If we was to furnish up a store so it looked _fine_, why, that would go a long ways. It would make us _look_ as if we amounted to somethin’.... We got to fix up our store somehow.” He stopped and thought a minute. “Wonder where there’s a store this Bockers man could rent,” says he. “Dunno,” says I. “Guess there’s one to rent, jest around the corner from yours.” “Let’s look at it,” says he. We walked down there and found the store. It was on a side-street, but it was all right. “Who owns it?” says Catty. “Dunno,” says I. “But Mr. Wade ’ll know.” “Who’s he?” “Insurance and real estate and not’ry public,” says I. “Let’s go and see him,” says Catty. We went over. Mr. Wade’s office was above the bank, and we hiked up the stairs and rapped on his door. “Go ’way,” somebody says inside. “Is that Mr. Wade?” says I. “Yes. Go ’way. I’m busy.” “It’s Wee-wee Moore and Catty Atkins,” says I. “Can’t we come in a minute?” “I’m busy,” says he. “I know what he’s doin’,” says I to Catty. “He’ll let us in. Jest watch.”