hit bang in the eye by a
whalin' big red, white, and blue sign announcin' that the W. E. L.
Supply Company was open for business.

Course, it was kind of crude compared to Belcher's. No fancy counters or
showcases or window displays of cracker-boxes. And the stock was limited
to staples that could be handled easy. But the price bulletins posted up
outside was what made some of them gents who'd been doin' the fam'ly
marketin' stop and stare. A few of 'em turned halfway to the station and
dashed back to leave their orders. Goin' into town they spread the news
through the train. The story of that latest bag of U-boats, which the
mornin' papers all carried screamers about, was almost thrown into the
discard. If I hadn't been due for a ten o'clock committee meetin' at the
Corrugated, I'd have stayed out and watched the openin'. Havin' told Old
Hickory about it, though, I was on hand next mornin' with a whole day's
furlough.

"It ought to be our big day," says Vee.

It was. For one thing, everybody was stockin' up for over Sunday, and
with the backin' of the League the Supply Company could count on about
fifty good customers as a starter. Most of the ladies came themselves,
rollin' up in limousines or tourin' cars and cartin' home their own
stuff. Also the cottage people, who'd got wind of the big mark-down
bargains, begun to come in bunches, every woman with a basket.

But they didn't swamp Vee. She'd already added to her force of young
lady clerks a squad of hand-picked Boy Scouts, and it was my job to
manage the youngsters.

I'd worked out the system the night before. Each one had typed price
lists in his pocket, and besides that I'd put 'em through an hour's
drill on weights and measures before the show started.

I don't know when it was Belcher begun to get wise and start his
counter-attack; but the first time I had a chance to slip out and take a
squint his way, I saw this whackin' big sign in front of his place:
"Potatoes, 40 cents per peck." Which I promptly reports to Vee.

"Very well," says she; "we'll make ours thirty-five."

Inside of ten minutes we had a bulletin out twice as big as his.

"Now I guess he'll be good," says I.

But he had a scrap or two left in him, it seems. Pretty soon he cuts the
price to thirty.

"We'll make it twenty-five," says Vee.

And by eleven o'clock Belcher has countered with potatoes at twenty
cents.

"Why," gasps Vee, "that's far less than they cost at wholesale. But w