“Naw. A heap better’n land. Say,” he pursued in a confidential tone. “I reckon you know a whole lot about cars. What do you reckon our big car cost?”
“Well, I know just what the catalogue price of that car is—or what it was last fall,” Lockwood returned. “I could have got you that car in New Orleans for two thousand six hundred dollars.”
“Well, she cost us close to six thousand.”
“What?”
“Yes, sir. But she’s a special model—not another like her.”
“Seems a big price,” said Lockwood, still noncommittal.
“Yes, sir. It sure does. Looks like the dealers knowed we didn’t know nothin’, and hit us all round, don’t it? Well, I reckon we kin stand it—once or twice. But Hanna must certainly have picked out all the high spots.”
It seemed as if Jackson was prepared to become confidential with a little encouragement, but the habit of suspicion made Lockwood hold back. The boy might be trying to pump him. Hanna might somehow have scented hostility already.
“Oh, I expect it’s all right. I really didn’t look closely at your car,” he said hastily. “Don’t tell Mr. Hanna what I said. It isn’t any of my business. I expect he knows what he’s doing.”
“I’ll bet he does,” said Jackson with conviction. “He’s the wisest guy I ever saw—up to all the city tricks. You don’t know him, do you? Well, you’re going to see him to-night, I hope. I was just heading for Craig’s camp to find you. We-all want you to come over and eat supper with us to-night. Sis sent you a special invitation.”