If Pepsy as chef could live up to Pee-Wee's promises
the neighborhood would soon become famous. That was her one forlorn
hope, that the fame of their offerings would get abroad and lure the
traffic from its wonted path. But Pee-Wee's enthusiasm and energy
carried all before them like a storming column and she was soon as
hopeful and confident as he.
When her chores were finished that afternoon she hurried to their
refreshment parlor, where Pee-Wee sat behind the new counter like a
stern schoolmaster, cards strewn about him, his round face black with
stencil ink, still turning out advertising bait for the public.
"I don't care what they say," she panted; "we're going to make a
lot of money and buy the tents. I tripped on the third step in the
house just now and that means surely we'll have good luck and I can
help just as much as if I was a really truly scout, can't I? Aunt
Jamsiah says if I make a lot of doughnuts you'll just eat them all
and there won't be any to sell. We mustn't eat the things ourselves,
must we?"
"That shows how much she knows," Pee-Wee said; "we might have to
do that to make the people hungry. If they see me eating a doughnut
and looking very happy, won't that make them want to buy some? We
have upkeep expenses, don't we?"
"Yes, and I'm sorry I didn't tell her that," Pepsy said, "but I
never thought of it.
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