But how'll I get away with all that fluffy stuff, eh?"
The elder explained: "We're going to a bit of a dance and we'll take
those evening clothes."
The heart of McGuire beat faster and his little eyes took in the
strangers again from head to foot.
"They ain't for sale," he said. "They's just samples. But right over
here--"
"This isn't a question of selling," said the red-headed man. "We've
come to accept a little donation, McGuire."
The storekeeper grew purple and white in patches. Still there was no
show of violence, no display of guns; he moved his hand toward his own
weapon, and still the strangers merely smiled quietly on him. He
decided that he had misunderstood, and went on: "Over here I got a
line of goods that you'll like. Just step up and--"
The younger man, frowning now, replied: "We don't want to see any more
of your junk. The clothes on the models suit us all right. Slip 'em
off, McGuire."
"But--" began McGuire and then stopped.
His first suspicion returned with redoubled force; above all, that
head of dark red hair made him thoughtful.
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