"He brought it back because he probably heard me making a fuss about it and was afraid of arrest."
Two days later, as Mr. Bowser sat on the front steps, a colored man came up and asked to borrow the lawn mower for a few minutes for use on the next corner.
"Certainly, my boy," replied Mr. Bowser; "you'll find it in the back yard."
When he had gone I observed that the man had a suspicious look about him and that I should not dare trust him, and Mr. Bowser turned on me with:
"What do you know about reading character? There never was a more honest man in the world. I'd trust him with every dollar I have."
In about half an hour Mr. Bowser began to get uneasy, and after waiting a few minutes longer he walked down to the corner. No black man. No lawn mower. By inquiry he learned that the borrower had loaded the mower into a handcart and hurried off. It was a clear case of confidence.
"Well?" I queried, as Mr. Bowser came back with his eyes bulging out and his hair on end.
"It's—it's gone!" he gasped.
"I expected it. The longer some folks live the less they seem to know. If somebody should come and want to borrow the furnace or the bay windows you'd let 'em go, I suppose."
"But he—he——"