I was going to say I was, but before I spoke up I knew _that_ wasn't the truth. Not a bit of it. Mark Tidd was in charge, and don't you forget it. Being in charge was a habit he'd got, and nobody will ever cure him of it. "Why," says I, "Mark Tidd is the boss right now." "I'd like to speak to him," says he, so I turned and called. Mark came waddling up with the dust still on his nose and more dust on his fingers, and what you might call a freshet of sweat cutting streaks down his face. "This," says I, "is Mark Tidd, our manager," and then I stood off to see what would happen. Mr. Long Neck wrinkled his nose till his wart moved up almost to his eyebrows and squinted at Mark. "I hain't here to be made fun of," says he, mad-like. Mark turned his head on one side, and that's a dangerous sign. When you see him pull his cheek or turn his head on one side or go to whittling--well, you want to look out, for something is going to happen. "What can I do for you?" Mark asked, without a stutter. "I want to see somebody in authority," says Mr. Long Neck. "I'm the b-b-best we got," says Mark, smiling sweet as honey. The man looked all around and didn't see anybody older than we were, so I guess he must have believed Mark. He took hold of the end of his nose and bent it back and forth a couple of times as if he expected it was going to help him talk better. "I," says he, "am Jehoshaphat P. Skip. The P. stands for Petronius." "I know him," says I before I could think. "He's in _The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_. Mark's father knows that by heart." "Huh!" Mr. Long Neck sniffed. Mark looked at me out of the corner of his eye, and after that I kept still. "P-p-pleased to meet you," says Mark. "What can I do for you?" Mr. Skip straightened up and lengthened his neck till he looked as dignified as a turkey gobbler. "I," says he, "am the sole proprietor of the Gigantic Five-and-Ten-Cent Stores, a branch of which is now being located in your village." You could see right off that Mr. Skip wouldn't start to argue with anybody who said he was a great man. Mark didn't say anything; he just waited. "I came," says Mr. Skip, "to talk business--serious business." Right off Mark looked serious. He did it fine. I don't believe there's an undertaker can look more serious than Mark when he's a mind to. "I came," says Mr. Skip, "to warn you." "Oh," says Mark, "to warn us? Oh." "I," says Mr. Skip, "propose to sell articles for five and ten cents. In some measure your Bazar will conflict with me--you will be almost a competitor." He stopped and bent his nose back and forth again. "Yes," says Mark, "I calc'late we will--almost." "But," says Mr. Skip, "it will not be a real competitor." "Um," says Mark. "Why?" "Because," says Mr. Skip, "I'm here to warn you not to encroach on my business." "Um," says Mark, again. "What was your ideas about en-encroachment?"