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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 4 pages of information about The Tale of Ginger and Pickles.

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Ginger and Pickles gave unlimited credit.

Now the meaning of “credit” is this—­when a customer buys a bar of soap, instead of the customer pulling out a purse and paying for it—­she says she will pay another time.

And Pickles makes a low bow and says, “With pleasure, madam,” and it is written down in a book.

The customers come again and again, and buy quantities, in spite of being afraid of Ginger and Pickles.

But there is no money in what is called the “till.”

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[Illustration]

The customers came in crowds every day and bought quantities, especially the toffee customers.  But there was always no money; they never paid for as much as a pennyworth of peppermints.

But the sales were enormous, ten times as large as Tabitha Twitchit’s.

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As there was always no money, Ginger and Pickles were obliged to eat their own goods.

Pickles ate biscuits and Ginger ate a dried haddock.

They ate them by candle-light after the shop was closed.

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When it came to Jan. 1st there was still no money, and Pickles was unable to buy a dog licence.

“It is very unpleasant, I am afraid of the police,” said Pickles.

“It is your own fault for being a terrier; I do not require a licence, and neither does Kep, the Collie dog.”

“It is very uncomfortable, I am afraid I shall be summoned.  I have tried in vain to get a licence upon credit at the Post Office;” said Pickles.  “The place is full of policemen.  I met one as I was coming home.”

“Let us send in the bill again to Samuel Whiskers, Ginger, he owes 22/9 for bacon.”

“I do not believe that he intends to pay at all,” replied Ginger.

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“And I feel sure that Anna Maria pockets things—­Where are all the cream crackers?”

“You have eaten them yourself,” replied Ginger.

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Ginger and Pickles retired into the back parlour.

They did accounts.  They added up sums and sums, and sums.

“Samuel Whiskers has run up a bill as long as his tail; he has had an ounce and three-quarters of snuff since October.”

“What is seven pounds of butter at 1/3, and a stick of sealing wax and four matches?”

“Send in all the bills again to everybody ‘with comp’ts,’” replied Ginger.

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After a time they heard a noise in the shop, as if something had been pushed in at the door.  They came out of the back parlour.  There was an envelope lying on the counter, and a policeman writing in a note-book!

Pickles nearly had a fit, he barked and he barked and made little rushes.

“Bite him, Pickles! bite him!” spluttered Ginger behind a sugar-barrel, “he’s only a German doll!”

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