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Mighty Fine Biscuits


snowyday
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Old Matt Ironfield, who had run the only hardware store in Slopeville for the last

thirty years, was sitting himself down to supper table, when his patient wife,

Esmerelda, said: “Any business today, Matt?â€

“Oh, old Bull’s-Eye Benson came in and bought a lock for his meat cellar this morning.â€

“Anything else happen?†asked his wife.

“Oh, a little later on, Light-Fingered Fenwick come in and bought a wrecking bar.â€

“Oh, just before noon, Light-Fingered Fenwick came back and bought a skillet –

big enough to fry a big slice of ham in.â€

“I see,†said Esmerelda. “Any other customers?â€

“Oh, along the middle of the afternoon, Bull’s-Eye Benson come in and bought a

box of 30-40 cartridges for his old rifle.â€

“And that was the extent of your day’s business?†his wife asked.

“Nope,†he said, buttering a biscuit. “Later on, Light-Fingered’s two cousins, Jake

and Joe, come in and bought a pick and spade – some spikes to nail a pine plank

box together with.â€

“Well, well,†said Esmerelda, “and then did Bull’s-Eye Benson come back and buy

another padlock for his meat cellar?â€

“Nope,†Matt said, heaping a mound of jelly on his biscuit. “Don’t reckon he’ll need

to keep it locked now . . . Mighty fine biscuits, Esmerelda.â€

* * *

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