“Her name ’ll be Jane,” says Catty, as serious as a judge.
We hustled off, and then Catty says to me, “Who owns a good Jersey cow?”
“Hiram Winklereid, out a half a mile, keeps quite a herd.”
“That’s where we’re headin’,” says Catty. We mogged along the road till we came to Winklereid’s and went back into the big barn. Mr. Winklereid was walking around, looking at his cattle, and Catty went up to him as big as life and more than three times as natural.
“Mr. Winklereid,” says he, “I got a man that wants to buy him a good-natured Jersey cow by the name of Jane, that gives a pailful of milk. Got sich a cow fer sale?”
“All but the name of Jane,” says Mr. Winklereid, with a grin. He was a great big man, and about as pleasant as any farmer in that part of the state. Everybody liked him on account of him always grinning and joking with folks, and it was said of him that he treated the animals on his place better than most men treated their families.
“If you got the cow,” says Catty, and he grinned, too, “I guess I kin tend to christenin’ her Jane.”
“Shouldn’t be s’prised a mite,” says Mr. Winklereid. “Who be you, anyhow?”
I introduced them and Mr. Winklereid looked at Catty kind of sharp and says, “How come you in this deal?”
“To make money,” says Catty. “I needed some money for a purpose I got in mind, and when I heard of a man that wanted a cow I figgered I’d buy him one and turn it over at a profit.”