“I tell you vot, boys, you vork it two days an’ not vun day an’ I sell you heem vor dree dollahs.”
“No,” waggled Scoop, who realized that the other was trying to get the big end of the bargain.
The junk man next offered the engine to us for one day’s work and five dollars.
“No,” Scoop said again. “We made you our offer. You can take it or leave it.”
“Vell,” shrugged the junk man, with a trace of a grin on his face, “you gif me da dree dollahs, an’ with da day’s vork ve vill call it a deal.”
Cleaning up that junk yard was the hardest work I ever did. And as I tugged and lugged I told myself that when I grew up the one thing [[37]]that I wasn’t going to be was a junk wrestler. By ten o’clock my arms were so lame that it pained me to lift them. I couldn’t step around half as briskly as I had done at the start. I suggested to the other fellows, who were equally as tired as I was, that we better stop and rest. And with Mr. Solbeam’s consent we sent Red home for some sandwiches and doughnuts.
I was glad when the noon whistles blew. As I hurried into the street Dad drove by in our auto, stopping at my signal.
“I never saw you look any dirtier,” he grinned, “so you ought to be happy.”
I told him what I had been doing.
“Hard work, hey?” and he looked at me sort of warm-like.