“Oh, call that a fust askin’ price. And, seein’ as how we’re all friends together, and how the machine’s a little jolted, as you might say, suppose you say what you think’s a fair offer.”
Lon turned to Poke, and saw the eagerness in his eyes. He took out an old-fashioned wallet, opened it, extracted a couple of bills.
“Poke,” he said, “I guess you’ve sot your heart on this foolishness. If you have—wal, I ain’t no connooshur on relics, and I dunno the goin’ price o’ curios, but I don’t mind lendin’ you a dollar or two.”
“If you’re lookin’ for speed, young man,” Mr. Haskins urged, “you won’t have to look no further. You seen me and you seen how I was goin’ it, when I wa’n’t half tryin’. And fifty dollars ain’t so wuss when——”
“Oh, fifty’s too much,” Poke said hastily.
“It’s dirt cheap,” Mr. Haskins insisted.
Lon glanced inquiringly at Sam, grunted, and somewhat ostentatiously prepared to return the bills to the pocketbook. Poke blanched, but of all concerned Mr. Haskins appeared to be most deeply affected. There was something like a sob in his voice as he said:
“Oh, come now! ’Tain’t good luck to start a trade and stop this way. And a good, enterprisin’ youngster can have a lot of fun playin’ with a crackerjack engine like this, and so——”
“I don’t want it to play with,” Poke objected with dignity. “And all I care for is the motor; the rest of the machine would be of no use to me.”
Mr. Haskins was watching Lon and the disappearing bills.