“ ‘Really,’ he says, ‘he-uh-uh, I haven’t any idea. I haven’t seen the animal, an’ I should not consider myself qual’fied to give an opinion upon his value if I had, but,’ he says, ‘I don’t know that that makes any material diff’rence, however, because I am quite—he-uh, he-uh—in your hands—he-uh!—within limits—he-uh-uh!—within limits,’ he says. That kind o’ riled me,” remarked David. “I see in a minute what was passin’ in his mind. ‘Wa’al,’ I says, ‘Mr. Verjoos, I guess the fact o’ the matter is ’t I’m about as much in the mud as you be in the mire—your daughter’s got my hoss,’ I says. ‘Now you ain’t dealin’ with a hoss jockey,’ I says, ‘though I don’t deny that I buy an’ sell hosses, an’ once in a while make money at it. You’re dealin’ with David Harum, Banker, an’ I consider ’t I’m dealin’ with a lady, or the father of one on her account,’ I says.
“ ‘He-uh, he-uh! I meant no offense, sir,’ he says.
“ ‘None bein’ meant, none will be took,’ I says. ‘Now,’ I says,’ I was offered one-seventy-five fer that hoss day before yestidy, an’ wouldn’t take it. I can’t sell him fer that,’ I says.
“ ‘He-uh, uh! cert’nly not,’ he says.
“ ‘Wait a minit,’ I says. ‘I can’t sell him fer that because I said I wouldn’t; but if you feel like drawin’ your check fer one-seventy-six,’ I says, ‘we’ll call it a deal,’ ” The speaker paused with a chuckle.
“Well?” said John.
“Wa’al,” said David, “he, he, he, he! That clean took the wind out of him, an’ he got redder ’n a beet. ‘He-uh-uh-uh-huh! really,’ he says, ‘I couldn’t think of offerin’ you less than two hunderd.’
“ ‘All right,’ I says, ‘I’ll send up fer the hoss. One-seventy-six is my price, no more an’ no less,’ an’ I got up out o’ my chair.”
“And what did he say then?” asked John.
“Wa’al,” replied Mr. Harum, “he settled his neck down into his collar an’ necktie an’ cleared his throat a few times, an’ says, ‘You put me in ruther an embarrassin’ position, Mr. Harum. My daughter has set her heart on the hoss, an’—he-uh-uh-uh!’—with a kind of a smile like a wrinkle in a boot, ‘I can’t very well tell her that I wouldn’t buy him because you wouldn’t accept a higher offer than your own price. I—I think I must accede to your proposition, an’—he-uh-uh—accept the favor,’ he says, draggin’ the words out by the roots.
“ ‘No favor at all,’ I says, ‘not a bit on’t, not a bit on’t. It was the cleanest an’ slickist deal I ever had,’ I says, ‘an’ I’ve had a good many. That girl o’ your’n,’ I says, ‘if you don’t mind my sayin’ it, comes as near bein’ a full team an’ a cross dog under the wagin as you c’n git; an’ you c’n tell her if you think fit,’ I says, ‘that if she ever wants anythin’ more out o’ my barn I’ll throw off twenty-four dollars ev’ry time, if she’ll only do her own buyin’.’
“Wa’al,” said Mr. Harum, “I didn’t know but what he’d gag a little at that, but he didn’t seem to, an’ when he went off after givin’ me his check, he put out his hand an’ shook hands, a thing he never done before.”
“That was really very amusing,” was John’s comment.
“ ’T wa’n’t a bad day’s work either,” observed Mr. Harum. “I’ve sold the crowd a good many hosses since then, an’ I’ve laughed a thousan’ times over that pertic’ler trade. Me ’n Miss Claricy,” he added, “has alwus ben good friends sence that time—an’ she ’n Polly are reg’lar neetups. She never sees me in the street but what it’s ‘How dee do, Mr. H-a-rum?’ An’ I’ll say, ‘Ain’t that ole hoss wore out yet?’ or, ‘When you comin’ ’round to run off with another hoss?’ I’ll say.”
At this point David got out of his chair, yawned, and walked over to the window.
“Did you ever in all your born days,” he said, “see such dum’d weather? Jest look out there—no sleighin’, no wheelin’, an’ a barn full wantin’ exercise. Wa’al, I guess I’ll be moseyin’ along.” And out he went.
XXX
If John Lenox had kept a diary for the first year of his life in Homeville most of its pages would have been blank.
The daily routine of the office (he had no assistant but the callow Hopkins) was more exacting than laborious, but it kept him confined seven hours in the twenty-four. Still, there was time in the lengthened days as the year advanced for walking, rowing, and riding or driving about the picturesque country which surrounds Homeville. He and Mr. Harum often drove together after the bank closed, or after “tea,” and it was a pleasure in itself to observe David’s dexterous handling of his horses, and his content and satisfaction in the enjoyment of his favorite pastime. In pursuit of business he “jogged ’round,” as he said, behind the faithful Jinny, but when on pleasure bent, a pair of satin-coated trotters drew him in the latest and “slickest” model of top-buggies.
“Of course,” he said, “I’d ruther ride all alone than not to ride at all, but the’s twice as much fun in’t when you’ve got somebody along. I ain’t much of a talker, unless I happen to git started” (at which assertion John repressed a smile), “but once in a while I like to have somebody to say somethin’ to. You like to come along, don’t ye?”
“Very much indeed.”
“I used to git Polly to come once in a while,” said David, “but it wa’n’t no pleasure to her. She hadn’t never ben used to hosses an’ alwus set on the edge of the seat ready to jump, an’ if one o’ the critters capered a little she’d want to
