But the giant knew a good thing when he saw it.
“Jest a minute; jest a minute,” says he, taking hold of a front wheel—and bu-lieve me, we stopped! “If it’s cash in advance,” he came down, “we’ll call it five-fifty.”
“Guess again,” says Poppy, putting on more gas to turn around, though to no success.
“Five dollars even,” dickered the wheel holder.
“Nothin’ doin’.”
“Four-fifty.”
“Nope.”
“Brother,” then came the sad waggle, and the blue eyes shamed us, “you’ve got a penurious disposition.”
“Yah,” grinned Poppy, unable to stay sore at the queer old geezer, “whatever that is.”
“An’ furthermore, you’ve got a selfish disposition, my brother. Here I be, a pore, hard-working man— I’ve got to have money to live on, even if they hain’t no chewin’ terbaccy in it fur me, yet with money in your pocket you begrudge me this chance of earnin’ an honest dollar.... I don’t s’pose,” and there was a hungry, begging look in the giant’s face now as he bent over us, “that you’ve got a plug of J. T. tucked away in some inside pocket, hey?”