"Givin' some one the slip?" says I.
"Oh, no," says he real prompt. "I—I've been in a race, that's all."
"Ye-e-es?" says I. "Had a start, didn't you?"
"A little," says he.
With that he sits down on the steps, snuggles the terrier up alongside of him, and begins to look me and the place over careful, without sayin' any more. Course, that ain't the way boys usually act, unless they've got stage fright, and this one didn't seem at all shy. As near as I could guess, he was thinkin' hard, so I let him take his time. I figures out from his looks, and his showin' up in a runabout, that he's come from some of them big country places near by, and that when he gets ready he'll let out what he's after. Sure enough, pretty soon he opens up.
"Wouldn't you like to buy the machine, sir?" says he.
"Selling out, are you?" says I. "Well, what's your askin' price for a rig of that kind?"
He sizes me up for a minute, and then sends out a feeler. "Would five dollars be too much?"
"No," says I, "I shouldn't call that a squeeze, providin' you threw in the dog."
He looks real worried then, and hugs the terrier up closer than ever. "I couldn't sell Togo," says he. "You—you wouldn't want him too, would you?"