Every man in the house volunteered with a whoop. MacShane laughed: “Too many trees! Here you, Camillo, an’ Moosehide, an’ you two over there by the door, you go get a tree, an’ make it as big an’ bushy as will set up in this room. How many stores is there? All right, you Ace-In-The-Hole, an’ Bettles, you go down an’ find out what they got in the way of toys an’ candy.” “They’re closed up!” ventured someone. “Unclose ’em, then! Tell ’em MacShane says to open up an’ stay open till we get this thing fixed up.” Other arrangements were discussed, suggestions and counter-suggestions coming in an indistinguishable jumble of words. A wave of fog rolled into the room as the door opened: “There ain’t a damn toy in town!” cried Bettles from the doorway, “An’ only a little candy,” supplemented Ace-In-The-Hole. MacShane leaped from the bar and made his way to the door, the crowd parting to give him room. “Come on, half a dozen of you packers,” he called after him, “We’ll look around a bit.” Pushing into the first store where the sleepy proprietor grinned a welcome, MacShane opened up: “What kind of a dump you runnin’ here? No toys! Who in hell ever heard of a store without toys at Christmas? What have you got? There’s cranberries! Give us ten quarts. An’ all the candy you’ve got. Twenty pounds of sugar an’ some chocolate. We’ll set some of the girls makin’ candy. Got to have dolls. The girls can make ’em, give us some cloth, an’ somethin’ for waddin’--an’ they’ve got to have dresses. Give us a bolt of cloth for dresses--not no squaw cloth, some honest to God silk. Ain’t got it! What’s that hangin’ up there?” “Them’s silk skirts. The girls buys ’em.” “Give us a bunch, assorted colors--red an’ pink, an’ blue. Is that all you got? Ain’t you got nothin’ for boy kids? Give us some tin pails, then--they can pound on ’em for drums. What’s in them fancy bottles?” “That’s perfumery for to sell the girls.” “Give it here!” demanded MacShane, “Sell ’em a bath tub, an’ they won’t need this. Kids like the smell of it. Oh, yes, an’ some candles.” “If you want ’em fer a Christmas tree, I ain’t got none of them holders.” MacShane thought a minute. “Give us some clothes pins, we can rig ’em on with them. An’ a can of red paint, an’ yellow, an’ blue.” “I got red, an’ black, an’ white. No yeller, an’ blue.” “Give us them, then,” ordered MacShane “an’ when you figger up the bill send it to me.”