“Eh—what’s that?” he asked, for he was a trifle deaf.
“The price is—three dollars! I’m afraid that’s rather expensive. I don’t carry much in that line—not in this neighborhood—but really I ought to get three dollars for the Dog and——”
“Why, you’re going to get three dollars for him,” chuckled Mr. Blakeley. “I never try to beat down a price. It looks worth it to me. I’ve seen some no better on Main Street that were marked five dollars. I think I’m getting a bargain. Donald will like it, I’m sure. Wrap it up, please, I’m in a hurry—my car broke down.”
With fingers that still trembled, Mrs. Clark wrapped the Woolly Dog in paper and tied it about with cord.
“Hum! This isn’t very pleasant,” thought the Woolly Dog to himself. “But I suppose it can’t last forever. When I get to Donald’s house—wherever that may be—I am sure my adventures will begin. But I wish I could have said good-bye to the poor toys.”
The poor toys themselves wished they might bid farewell to their expensive friend, the Woolly Dog, but it could not be. They dared not move or speak while human eyes were watching.
“There you are, madam, three dollars,” murmured Mr. Blakeley, as he passed over some crisp bills. “And I’m sure I’m quite pleased to get this toy for Donald. Good-morning!”
And out he walked.
“But, my stars! you should have seen the money in his pocketbook when he opened it to pay me the three dollars,” said Mrs. Clark afterward. “Honestly, I never knew men carried so much! But I’m thankful to get the three, as I needed just them to make up my rent. Now I won’t worry for another month, and by that time Jimmie may come home with the gold he is always talking about.” And a few weeks later Jimmie came home and his mother was no longer poor, for the sailor lad had found gold.
Humming to himself a little song, and quite pleased with his early morning shopping, even though the day had started with an accident to his automobile, Mr. Blakeley kept on through Hoyt Street with the paper parcel containing the Woolly Dog.