“Yes, indeed. Funny thing is, though, that I’ve never owned one.”
“No? How does that happen?”
“I don’t know. My mother thinks they’re rather a nuisance around the house. Still, I dare say she’d have let me kept one if I’d insisted. I don’t suppose you—you’d care to sell one of those?”
“Oh, yes, I would. I’ll have to either sell them or give them: unless I send them off to the happy hunting ground.”
“Really? How much would they be?”
“The lot?” asked Merriman, a twinkle in his eye.
“Gee, no! One!”
“Five dollars. Tess is good stock, and the father is a thoroughbred belonging to Terrill, the stableman on Centre Street. Got a place to keep him?”
“I’d forgot about that,” owned Myron. “I’m afraid not. They wouldn’t let me have him in Sohmer, would they?”
“Scarcely!” laughed the other. “All right, old lady, back you go. Sit down—ah—What’s the name, please?”