Page:Quinby and Son (1925).pdf/183

 Events had made their mark even upon Sam. All at once he had become a bit silent, a bit preoccupied. To-night, after coming back to the store, he stood down near the window looking out at the people passing in the street. After a time he turned and came back slowly to where Bert leaned against the counter.

"Bert," he said frankly, "we're in a bad way. I don't believe in yelling quits before you're licked, but there's such a thing as not trying to fool yourself. We're pretty nearly at our finish."

Bert's heart thumped. "You mean you want to quit?"

"No. I don't mean that. This wouldn't be the time to quit. In two weeks we have Thanksgiving. A month after that we have Christmas, the biggest shopping season of the year. Why, everybody will be searching for bargains then. It's our time to clean up, to establish ourselves, to put the business on a paying basis. You know what the Christmas rush means all during December. Christmas shopping, Christmas crowds. We've got to get through the Christmas season into clear water."

Bert took the bank book from his pocket and opened it.

"I know." Sam pushed it away with an impatient movement of his hand. "There isn't enough there to carry us three more weeks."

"Then what's the idea of talking about lasting