“She’s wanted,” he said, “by a responsible party to look after a little boy—a very nice, respectable little boy.”
“Is he a widower?” shrieked the ladies in unison.
“No, ma’am,” replied the little man, ducking his head fearfully and edging away. “He ain’t old enough to be married yet.”
“Not old enough to be married? Oh! you mean the boy?”
“Come on, sir, an’ we’ll settle,” put in the auctioneer, taking Mr. Smith by the arm, as if he feared he might be planning an escape.
But Mr. Smith appeared entirely ready, even anxious, to settle. In the privacy of the kitchen he counted off from a sizable roll four thousand dollars in bills of large denominations, repeating in a painstaking manner what he had already told the women.
“Yes, sir; the young woman’s wanted to look after a child.”
“Whereabouts?” inquired the auctioneer.
“W’y, I don’t rightly know,” wheezed Mr. Smith. “M’ asthma’s terrible bad this morning.”