“Would you?” whispered Pinky.
“No,” replied Jonesie from the corner of his mouth. “He’ll take five in a minute. Don’t let on you want him.” Then, aloud and impatiently: “Oh, come on, Pinky! He doesn’t want to sell; he just wants to talk!”
“Sure I want to sell,” answered the stableman indignantly. “But I don’t want to make any presents! Talk sense now. What’ll you give me?”
“Five dollars,” exploded Pinky. Jonesie stared at him incredulously.
“Don’t count me in at that price, Pinky,” he warned. “You come with me and I’ll find you a dog for half the money.”
“Five dollars!” ejaculated the man. “Well, what do you know about that! Five dollars for a three months’ old fox terrier as can trace his pedigree back to two champions!” Words appeared to fail him there and Pinky was beginning to look utterly ashamed of himself when the stableman found his voice again and inquired: “Cash down?”
“Why—why, not—not all of it!” stammered Pinky. He looked appealingly at Jonesie. “How much you got?” he asked in a hoarse aside. Jonesie nonchalantly pulled out a pigskin coin purse and studied its depths.
“I can lend you a dollar and a quarter,” he replied. Pinky brightened again.
“And I’ve got two,” he said. “Three and a quarter down now and the rest next week.” He watched the stableman anxiously. The latter nodded.