“Say, make me a bid, if you don’t like the askin’ price,” said he. “I ain’t hoggish, and I allers did fancy doin’ favors for folks that treat me right.”
“And that hoss you swapped for the car wa’n’t so much of a hoss, after all, come to think of it,” suggested Lon shrewdly.
Mr. Haskins grinned. “I swan! but maybe there’s something to that, too. Still, he could stand up and keep goin’.”
“That’s more’n you can say for the machine,” Lon remarked pointedly.
Mr. Haskins bent over the wreckage for another brief inspection.
“Huh! She does seem to be kinder generally foundered-like,” he admitted. “And you say you don’t care for the hide and hoofs, eh? The body and wheels, I mean? Wal, what’ll you give?”
Poke caught Lon’s eye. For the life of him he couldn’t explain how he seemed to read a message there.
“Te-ten dollars,” he faltered.
Mr. Haskins groaned more dismally than he had groaned because of his bodily hurts.
“Ten dollars,” Poke repeated—firmly this time; for now he read distinct encouragement in Lon’s glance.