"
Richard's gaze followed the other's glance and rested on piles of
scarlet flannel chest-protectors, flanked by small brass tea-kettles
with alcohol lamps beneath.
"We carry a side line of spirit-lamp stuff," explained the dealer. "It
sells well this time of year. Got to keep track of the popular thing.
Afternoon teas are all the go among the women of this town now. The
hardware's the only other place they can get these--and they don't begin
to keep the variety we do."
Richard congratulated the dealer on his window. Lingering by it, his
hand on the door, he said:
"I noticed Benson's as I came by, and I see now the force of what you
say about window display. I'm not sure I can tell what was in their
windows."
"Nor anybody else," declared the druggist, chuckling, "unless he went
with a notebook and made an inventory. Since the old man died last year
the windows have been a hodgepodge of stuff that attracts nobody. It's
merely an index to the way the place is running behind. Young Benson
doesn't know how to buy nor how to sell; he'll never succeed. The store
began to go down when the old man got too feeble to take the whole
responsibility.
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