“How much?” says I.
“Nine seventy-five,” says he, and I paid for it and had it wrapped up and lugged it out.
Right in front of the store chalk-marks with an arrow-head at one end pointed down the street, and I followed where they pointed. They went around a few corners, but I didn’t have any trouble to follow them, and after a while I saw Catty kind of hanging around the front of a paint-shop.
“Hello!” says he. “Got the churn?”
“No,” says I. “This package is full of song-sparrers and I’m goin’ to make a pie of them.”
“What kind of a churn is it?” says he.
“It’s a Criterion,” says I, calling it by its catalogue name.
“He got the best there was, didn’t he?”
“The best hain’t none too good for Kinderhook. Where is he?”
“In that paint-shop.”