Mark high tails it through the forest to the store he saw from the road, but when he gets there, he finds that it's closed (and probably has been for many many years since it says that the price of gas is twenty-five cents a gallon). Uh oh. Looks like the economy might be about to take another victim, and this time it's out for blood...or maybe not. Fortunately, while the store may be closed, it would seem that the previous owners (or maybe the current owners who only open during the busy season when there actually people at the beach who need to buy things) left all of their wares behind. (Do you think that they'll have have peppermint candies and whittling knives and cooking pots?)
Desperate times call for desperate measures, and disregarding the fact that his last couple of adventures have dealt with crime and how it's wrong, Mark picks up the nearest barrel and hurls it through the window of the store. (I hope that he intends to fix the window, or at least notify the proper authorities.) Entering the store, and initially beginning to give up any hope of finding something useful, Mark spies a jack (which is probably only about fifty years old and rusted up). What luck! Don't just stand there, man! Grab it and go! There's a boy in trouble and he needs your help! (Because those pelicans have proven to be pretty darn worthless.)
Mark high tails it through the forest to the store he saw from the road, but when he gets there, he finds that it's closed (and probably has been for many many years since it says that the price of gas is twenty-five cents a gallon). Uh oh. Looks like the economy might be about to take another victim, and this time it's out for blood...or maybe not. Fortunately, while the store may be closed, it would seem that the previous owners (or maybe the current owners who only open during the busy season when there actually people at the beach who need to buy things) left all of their wares behind. (Do you think that they'll have have peppermint candies and whittling knives and cooking pots?)
Desperate times call for desperate measures, and disregarding the fact that his last couple of adventures have dealt with crime and how it's wrong, Mark picks up the nearest barrel and hurls it through the window of the store. (I hope that he intends to fix the window, or at least notify the proper authorities.) Entering the store, and initially beginning to give up any hope of finding something useful, Mark spies a jack (which is probably only about fifty years old and rusted up). What luck! Don't just stand there, man! Grab it and go! There's a boy in trouble and he needs your help! (Because those pelicans have proven to be pretty darn worthless.)
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