"Do you think I'm asking too much money?"
"Nope. Chances are that you won't get less than six in any party. Split the cost amongst 'em and it won't break any one. Your prices are fair."
Ted lost himself in his literary effort. "It doesn't seem very forceful."
"Land o'goshen!" Al's eyes glinted with amusement. "You're tryin' to get information across, not writin' a speech! How many papers you crumpled so far?"
"Well," Ted looked at the pile of discarded papers beside him and grinned, "quite a few. You really think this is all right?"
"A masterpiece," Al answered solemnly. "Mail it afore you change your mind again."
Ted folded his paper, wrote a short letter to the effect that he wanted his ad to run in the classified section, wrote a check, put all three in an envelope and addressed it to a leading daily newspaper in a city from which the Mahela drew numerous hunters. Tammie trotted beside him as he ran down to the mailbox, put his letter in and raised the red flag to let Bill Parker, their rural carrier, know there was mail to pick up. He ran back to the house.
"Br-r! It's cold!"
"The jackets in the closet," Al observed drily, "are not there because they look pretty."
Ted said meekly, "Yes, Dad."