“My name is Gibson,” said the stranger, introducing himself. “I’m from Wayback, where I keep a general store. I’ve got a load of stuff I want hauled out to my place. Hiram Bond used to do my carting, but as he is dead and I’m told you have his outfit, I thought probably we could strike a bargain between us. What’ll you charge me?”
“How far is Wayback from here?” asked Dick, who was ready to accept the job if there was anything in it.
“Nigh on to forty-five miles.”
The boy pondered a moment and then named a figure.
Gibson started to dicker for a lower sum, but Dick cut him short.
“I wouldn’t do it for a cent lower, Mr. Gibson. I don’t know what Hiram Bond was accustomed to charge you, but the price I’ve set is a reasonable one. I had something else in view, but I’ll haul your goods out to Wayback on the terms I’ve mentioned. Is it a bargain or not?”
Dick’s manner was thoroughly business-like, and he appeared to be indifferent whether he got the job or not.
“But you’re only a boy,” persisted the Wayback storekeeper. “You ought to do it cheaper than a man.”
“Think so?” retorted the lad, looking him in the eye. “Well, that isn’t the way I do business. I expect to deliver your stuff in as good shape as Hiram Bond would have done, so the fact that I am a boy can’t make any difference.”
Mr. Gibson finally agreed to the charge and told Dick to be on hand at a certain wholesale store in the morning, where he would meet him.