“I’ll work four years-or five for the money,” said Barbara steadily. “And I shall be worth far more than an ordinary servant.”
Mr. Bellows wagged his head argumentatively. “I’d hev to charge you five per cent.,” he warned her. “An’ you couldn’t get any bidders, anyhow.”
“That,” said Barbara, “would be my affair. What I want to know is, will you sell me?”
The blood hammered in her temples; her hands and feet were icy cold; but she eyed the man steadily.
Mr. Bellows had been making a rapid mental calculation.
“W’y, I don’ know,” he said, scratching his head reflectively. “I don’t want to go int’ no fool job fer nothin’. M’ time’s valu’ble.”
“I’ll pay you—ten dollars, if—if—no one buys me,” said Barbara faintly.
Mr. Bellows bit his thumb-nail thoughtfully.
“All right!” he burst out at length. “You name the day, git th’ bidders t’gether an’ I’ll auction ye off. Gracious! It don’t sound right, some way.”