"Now it's coming!" he thought and faced her again; he was bracing himself mentally to meet the announcement.
"Did you see the junk man at The Corners to-day about those shingle nails?"
In the second of hesitation before replying, he had time inwardly to curse her. She was always letting him down in this way. It was a trick of hers when, to use his own expression, she had "something up her sleeve."
"Yes; but he won't take them off our hands."
"Why not?" She spoke sharply as was her way when she suspected any thwarting of her will or desire.
"He says he won't give you your price for they ain't worth it. They ain't particular good for old iron anyway; most on 'em's rusty and crooked. You know they've been on the old coach house for good thirty years, and the Judge used to say—"
"What will he give?"
"A quarter of a cent a pound."
"How many pounds are there?"
"Fifty-two."