January 11, 1922. The back room of Values at Tiny’s General Store, somewhere in America.
“What’s the matter Boss? Why the long face?”
“Oh, it’s all this-here inventory I’m stuck with,” Tiny complained. “Sales were slow over Christmas, and I’ve got all this darn candy that didn’t sell. I still got me four cases a’ those stuffed bears I thought the kiddies would want. And to top it all off, that fast talk’n’ salesman from Omaha sold me all that red wrapp’n paper, an’ it didn’t sell neither. I got me a back room stuffed to the rafters with choco-lat and stuffed bears and red paper, and nothin’ to do with it!”
“That is a problem Boss. Ain’t no holi-days coming up where people want candy nor stuffed bears until the Fourth of Ju-ly. And if it gits hot like it did last spring, we’ll have us a big ol’ puddle of choco-lat long before anyone gits to buying anything.”
“See, that’s just it,” said Tiny. “Ain’t enough holi-days where people eat candy. Nobody wants the darn stuff for Washington’s or Lincoln’s birthdays. Easter’s okay, but it’s all bunnies and junk, not stuffed bears, and none of the boxed choco-lats like we got all over this here back room. I’m gonna go broke!”