Tugs stepped around Harvey Moore, who had cornered Al outside his luncheonette. She walked down to Pepper’s and stood in front of the window. There was a display of the newest Brownie cameras and a poster with an image of a girl about her age taking a picture of a squirrel running up a tree. Tugs scoffed. If she had a camera, she’d certainly photograph something more interesting than a squirrel.

She tried the door, but it was locked. She cupped her hands around her face and pressed her nose against the glass. The store was empty, save for the dozens of camera eyes gazing around the shop.

“Now you’ve gone and smudged my window!”

Tugs turned. Mr. Pepper had pulled up to the curb and was trying to get an unwieldy box out of his Ford.

“I was . . . the door was . . .” she started, but Mr. Pepper interrupted.

“Never mind. Grab the keys off the front seat, will you? Unlock the door and hold it open for me.” Tugs did as she was told and stood holding the door while Mr. Pepper wrestled the box into the store.

“Now, take this rag and go wipe your nose juice off the window.”

“I . . .” she started, but Mr. Pepper was already rooting through a drawer and muttering to himself about scissors and numbskulls and the dearth of good help in this country.

Tugs scrubbed at the window of the front door. She couldn’t see any smudges, but she wiped anyhow. When she had wiped the outside of the door, she came inside and wiped the inside, too, for good measure.

“Help me out here, would you?” barked Mr. Pepper. He was pulling smaller boxes out of the large box.

“Line these up on the counter as I hand them to you. We have to count them and sort them into types. Have to make sure the distributor didn’t short me. These are the most popular items Kodak makes right now, and I’m just a little store in the middle of Nowheresville, Iowa, and even though the people of small-town America deserve cameras as much as the rest of the world, the little guy often gets overlooked. Don’t you forget that, young lady.”

“I won’t forget,” said Tugs, lining the boxes up as neatly as she could. Tall as she was and being a girl, she’d never be the little guy. “Did you hear about the newspaper starting up?” Tugs asked.

“Oh, sure. Now, that’s what I’m talking about. There’s a man with vision. Foresight. In fact, he was in here yesterday, and I don’t mind telling you, he asked me to be his photographic consultant. Says he’ll buy a camera from this very shop when the paper gets under way. Not going to send away to Chicago, to some fancy schmancy store. No. That man knows quality when he sees it. I paid him for six months of advertising in advance. Might have to hire someone on, all the business I’m going to get in here.”

“You gave him money already?” said Tugs. “But there’s no paper yet.”

“Humph. I can’t expect you to know how business works. Of course I gave him money in advance. How else is he going to get the paper up and running? Now, pay attention to what you’re doing, young lady.”

Tugs handled the boxes gingerly, wishing she were taking one home with her.

The count came out just as the invoice directed, which made Mr. Pepper pleased at last.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the counter. “There we go, then.” He sighed heavily and nearly smiled at Tugs. “I guess you’ve been quite a help.” He reached under the counter and brought out a string of five raffle tickets. “Got a few left. Here you go. For your efforts. Write your name on the back and drop them in that box at the end of the counter. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

“Really?” Tugs grinned. “Swell. I mean, great. I mean, thanks, and where’s a pencil?” Mr. Pepper handed her a pencil and she got busy printing her name as clearly as possible.

“Hurry up, then. You’re not writing a novel there.”

“I’m putting my whole name on. Just in case,” she said.

Mr. Pepper craned his neck to see her name.

“I shouldn’t think there would be too many Tugs Buttons that weren’t you,” he said.

“Never know,” she said as she finished the last ticket and dropped it in the box. She looked into the narrow slot. “Awful lot of tickets in there.”

“Each one has as good a chance as any other,” said Mr. Pepper. “Kid, adult, never can tell.”

“Who picks the winners?”

“The president of the art guild. This year that’s me.”

Tugs started toward the door, then turned back.

“Can I look into one?” she asked.

“Well, sure, then. I guess that wouldn’t hurt.”

Mr. Pepper pulled a Brownie from the display case and handed it to her. “Now, hold it down. . . . Yes, that’s it.”

The camera had a pleasing weight in her hands as she studied the small image of Mr. Pepper in the box.

“Click,” she said, then handed it back. “It’s the best raffle prize ever, if you ask me.” Tugs took one more long look at the case of cameras, then remembered Granddaddy and ran out the door, counting as she ran, one, two, one, two.