“How much did it cost when it was new?” asked Willard doubtfully.
“Ninety dollars, and cheap at that! Look at the stuff in her. Nothing cheap about her—except the price!” And Mr. Saunders laughed heartily at his joke. There was a dismal silence for a minute, during which the boys walked around and around, viewing the wagon from every possible angle. Finally,
“Would you mind taking one of the wheels off?” asked Willard quietly. “I’d like to see the axles.”
“Certainly sure,” replied Mr. Saunders. But he seemed to lack enthusiasm, a fact quickly explained when, having returned with the wrench and jack, he slid a rear wheel off. The axle was pretty badly worn. Mr. Saunders made light of it, however. “’Course it’s worn a little,” he said. “I ain’t sayin’ she’s perfectly new, am I?”
“Let’s look at a front axle,” suggested Willard. In the end they saw them all, and there was a whispered council between them. Then,
“We’ll give you fifteen dollars for it,” said Willard firmly.
Mr. Saunders, tightening a nut, laughed harshly.
“I guess you ain’t lookin’ for a wagon, boys; you want a wheel-barrow. Fifteen dollars wouldn’t hardly pay for the paint on her!”
“All right,” said Willard. “That’s all we’d be willing to pay for that wagon. She won’t last more than six months, I guess.”