“Well, it is a pleasure to meet both of you, I must say,” Mr. Figgletoes said. “Now, to the business at hand. What brings you into my store today? Can I help you find a doll? A game? A new hover board, perhaps?”
“No,” said J with a wave of his hand. “Nothing like that.”
“We are not here to buy anything,” added M.
Mr. Figgletoes frowned. “You have no children in your lives that need a special toy?”
“Um, yes, we do have children,” stammered J.
“But we are not here to shop for toys,” M jumped in. “We have come to ask you a few questions.”
Mr. Figgletoes’ face grew hot. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration off his brow. He hoped the men did not notice. “What sort of questions can I answer for you? What is the newest toy for ten-year-old boys? What does every seven-year-old girl dream of owning? Those are the sorts of questions I’m very good at answering.”
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