“Good land, no, only Pedro. He had it made specially. Fills it up in Canada. He has to carry a great deal of truck to make it pay because some of the customs are high,” she explained.
“Does he pick up American goods to take back?”
“Yes, and sometimes he does a little freighting when he can’t buy our farm products.” They had reached the end of the wagon, and the boys were amazed at its capacity. It seemed to hold a store full of goods. Besides the early vegetables, lemons, bananas, oranges, and pineapples, there were moccasins, Indian bows and arrows for youthful purchasers, bright blankets, and some skins hanging from the top. Mrs. Fenton looked over the wares, made her selection, and finally the transaction was completed. Pedro got a pail of water from the lake and gave his engine a drink, then climbed into the seat, waved cheerfully, and thundered colorfully off toward the next farm. In a minute he disappeared over the hill, but it took longer for the noise of his machine to diminish in the distance.
“Golly, he could take half the State over the border in that bus,” Bob declared, then added as he saw the foreign boy coming from the garden, “Here’s our friend. Hello,” he called. The boy stopped, eyed them keenly, then smiled and showed a set of teeth so perfect that any dentist would have given half his kingdom to use his picture in an advertisement.
“Old Top, so long.”
“Guess that will hold you for a while,” Jim roared. “You are dismissed, my brother, Old Top.”
“Aw I say, that’s wrong. Hello!”
“Aw,” the boy repeated—“Aw, hello.”
“That’s more like it.” He pointed to his step-brother. “Jim.” The boy looked at Jim, who flushed under the scrutiny. “Jim,” Bob said again.
“Jimmm?”