“It sure is,” agreed the tall lad after a moment’s inspection.
“He’s coming here.”
“Well, what of it?”
“Shall we tackle him about that calf?”
“By jinks! I’ve a good notion to. Wait until he gets here, and we’ll see if he knows us.”
Mr. Sackett came on with a shuffling gait. He did not seem to observe the three boys, and they were thinking in what manner they could get even with the miser for the mean trick he had played on them, when the grizzled old farmer, addressing one of the men outside the blacksmith shop, said:
“Well, Jason Stearn, have ye made up yer mind t’ take my flock of buff Cochins? I’ve got t’ know right away, fer I’ve got another offer fer ’em, an’ I can’t wait on ye any longer. There’s two hundred of th’ finest hens in Tewkesbury Township, an’ I’m lettin’ ye have ’em at a bargain.”
Jerry and his chums were all attention at this, and as the miserly farmer had not yet noticed them, Jerry pulled Ned and Bob out of sight behind a wagon, slipping along with them himself. From this vantage point they listened.
“Do ye want ’em, Jason?” went on Mr. Sackett.
“Wa’al, I’ve been thinkin’ of it, Eb,” drawled the man addressed. “I want t’ git some nice hens, an’ I like th’ Cochins as well as any. What’s yer lowest figger?”