BUSINESS IS PLEASURE
With an air of profound seriousness and businesslike briskness, Townsend
jacked up the rear of the flivver, removed the tire and rim, and
proceeded to tack strips of emery cloth continuously around the wooden
edge of the wheel. Two or three curious children watched him but most of
the boarders were too preoccupied watching and listening to Pee-wee to
note these preparations.
Our hero planted his flaunting banner between the car and the spacious
veranda and stood beneath it as if he were taking possession of the
whole place in the name of the Boy Scouts of America. His voice assailed
the porch and reached the neighboring lawn and penetrated to the rooms
which overlooked it. Here and there, blinds were thrown open revealing
the faces of astonished sojourners at the quiet resort.
[Illustration: Pee-wee planted his banner in front of the veranda.]
From one window an agitated old lady hurled a suitcase evidently under
the impression that the place was on fire. It landed on Pee-wee’s head
which only seemed to push his voice out more forcibly through his mouth.
“Scissors and knives sharpened, ten cents! Scissors and knives sharpened
by Townsend Ripley and his shivers slizzer—I mean scissors grinding
flivver! Have your knives and scissors and corn-cutters and everything
sharpened by the Boy Scouts! Don’t patronize professional flivver
sharpeners—I mean scissors sharpeners—they are profiteers. Here you are,
bring out anything that’s dull—”
“I’m having a perfectly _beastly dull_ time,” a girl interrupted him.
“Can you sharpen that?” Indeed he was already sharpening that, for the
guests were all laughing.
“Sure I can sharpen that!” Pee-wee shouted, “Bring it out! Only ten
cents!”
“I’m reading a pretty dull novel,” said a lady. “We can sharpen
everything,” Pee-wee shouted. “We don’t care what it is. After the
sharpening is over we give a special side show exhibition that sharpens
dull times and everything—don’t fail to wait and see Scout Ripley and
his talking Ford—it dances, it sings, it, it lays down—”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” laughed a man.
But no amount of laughing could drown Pee-wee out. “Have your knives and
scissors and pencils and everything sharpened by the Ford that got
arrested because a goat ate the auto license! See the letter
wrote—written—by Judge Dopett of the highest court that proves our
essentials—”
“Credentials,” whispered Townsend.
“I mean credentials,” shouted Pee-wee. “Be able to tell your great
grandparents—”
“Children,” whispered Townsend.
“Be able to tell your great grandchildren that you had your scissors
sharpened on the famous talking Ford that had its license eaten by a
goat! Here you are! Only ten cents. Three for a quarter.” He added as an
afterthought.
Dull times must indeed have prevailed at Brookside Villa, for not a
knife or scissors was withheld. The raised wheel at which Townsend
kneeled whizzed around, sharpening knife after knife and scissors after
scissors until there was not a particle of emery left in the emery cloth
nor a drop of gasoline in the tank. Still a little pile of familiar
domestic implements, which had partaken of the general dullness of the
place, lay on the running board of the car awaiting the touch of the
whizzing emery. And there was no dullness of any kind at Brookside Villa
any more.
Best of all, there was nearly three dollars in the little drinking cup
which stood on a stump near the flivver.
It would be hard to determine whether the boarders were better pleased
at having the dullness taken out of their knives and scissors or out of
their lives, for a while at least. Alas, neither form of dullness would
be long in abeyance. The emery treatment would not last long, the
entertainment was but the thing of an hour.
But if a laugh isn’t worth ten cents with a sharpened scissors thrown in
as a premium, why then a scout might as well beg and be done with it.
When you consider the overhead expenses, you can’t make people laugh and
sharpen scissors for less than ten cents—it can’t be done.