“I asked you if you would sell her for two hundred and fifty dollars,” repeated the girl, and prepared to step up into the wagon. Jarvis was not getting down to assist her. The black pair were too restless for that.
“Why—I’d ought to have three hundred for her,” the man hesitated.
Miss Farnsworth set her foot upon the step and drew herself up beside Jarvis. She did not look toward the freight agent. Just as the horses began to swing about, the man upon the platform said, haltingly:
“Well—if you mean it, and can pay me cash——”
She looked at him once more, quite indifferently. “I s’pose you can have her. But she’s wu’th more.”
“Mr. Jarvis,” said the horse buyer, “can we lead her home?”
He shook his head. “Not behind the colts.”
She gave him one glance of scorn—the last of any sort he received from her for some time to come. “Have you a saddle?” she asked of the agent.
“Yes, ma’am. Not a very good one, but such as ’tis.”
“Will you ride her home for me?” she asked, over a cool shoulder, of the man beside her.