“No one is hurt, I’m thankful to say,” replied the motorman; “but the little girl might have been only for the goat. Do you know her?”
“Sure, she’s Tessie Rooney. She lives near me,” explained Mike. “I’ll take her home if you like.”
“I wish you would,” said the lady who had given Tessie a five cent piece, which to Tessie was almost as much as a dollar. The child forgot all about her tears and what had happened to her.
“Sure I’ll take her home,” said Mike, kindly.
“Do you know whose goat that is?” asked the lady, as her little boy whispered something to her.
“That’s mine,” said Mike proudly. “And there’s no better jumping goat in these parts.”
“Nor smarter goat either,” said the motorman, and Mike, to his surprise, learned what his pet had done.
“Do you want to sell the goat?” asked the lady. “My little boy would like him. I have an idea that I could hitch him to a cart and have him draw my boy about. Some neighbor’s children have a little pony named Tinkle, and they have great fun riding around with him. My boy is too small for a pony, but a goat might be good for him. Will you sell him to me—Lightfoot I think you said his name was?”
“Well, ma’am, not wishing to be impolite to you, but I can’t sell Lightfoot,” said Mike slowly, and he put his hand on the goat’s head. “You see I’ve had him ever since he was a little kid, and I like him too much to sell him.”