“I’ll give you five thousand dollars for that word,” he said, turning suddenly to Phil.
“You’re mighty free with your money to-day. You must have a lien on somebody’s fortune.”
“Five thousand dollars,” repeated the Mayor.
“Not on your life!” answered Phil. “It was given me strictly on the understanding that it was not to be sold.”
“Well then,––I’ll give you my ‘word’ in exchange for yours.”
“Your ‘word,’––yours? No, Mister Mayor, I haven’t any desire to know your ‘word.’ Keep it,––it fits you. The two words are just about the difference between you and me,––and, God knows, I’m no saint.”
Brenchfield laughed in his easy, devil-may-care way. He jumped on to the back of his horse without touching her with his hands.
“Aren’t you going to let me shoe her?” asked Phil in assumed disappointment.
For answer, the Mayor touched the horse’s side with his spur, trotted round the end of the building and away.
“Phil, old man, where did you learn to subdue horses?”