The High School Boys Training Hike | Page 3

haven't time to stay here and dicker, sir. Good-----"
"Hold on!" fairly screamed Mr. Titmouse, as Dick, nodding at him, started to run to the corner.
"Then I'll stop and talk it over with you, sir," answered Prescott, going back. "But I don't say that I'll agree to take the wagon."
"Now, don't you try to work the price down any lower," exclaimed Mr. Titmouse, looking worried.
"No, sir; I won't do that," Dick promised. "I won't say, yet, that I'll take the wagon, but I will agree that I'll either take it at six dollars or refuse the chance altogether. I've just happened to think of something that I want to make sure about"
"What is it?" asked Mr. Titmouse apprehensively.
"I forgot to look at the tires on the wheels," Prescott went on. "I want to make sure that they're sound, so that we fellows won't have to take the chance of paying a blacksmith to make new ones before we've been out a week."
The tires were in excellent condition, so the little man had no objection whatever to showing them.
"Good, so far," nodded Prescott. "Now, next, I'd enjoy looking at the axles and the hub-nuts."
"You're not the lad who is going to allow himself to be cheated," laughed Mr. Titmouse admiringly. "The hubs and axles are all right, so I've no objection to showing them to you."
"I'm satisfied with the wagon," Dick declared, a few minutes later. "Now, Mr. Titmouse, I'll pay you the six dollars if you'll make out a satisfactory receipt for the money."
"Come into the office and tell me what you want me to say in the receipt," urged Newbegin Titmouse, leading the way across the stable into a little room in the furthermost corner.
The receipt was soon made out, the money paid and the receipt in Dick's pocket.
"I'll either come for the wagon myself, or send one of the other fellows," Dick promised. "If I send for it I'll also send a written order."
"I hope you boys will have a pleasant time this summer," chirped Mr. Titmouse, who, though he had been badly out-generaled in the trade, had at least the satisfaction of knowing that there was some money in his pocket that had come to him by sheer good luck.
"We're going to try to have the finest good time that a crowd of fellows ever had," Dick replied, after nodding his thanks. "I've missed that car, and shall have quite a little wait."
"Perhaps you'd like to sit under a tree and eat a few apples," suggested Mr. Titmouse.
Dick was about to accept the invitation with thanks when Mr. Titmouse added:
"I've a lot of fine summer apples I gathered yesterday. I'll let you have three for five cents."
This attempt at petty trade, almost in the guise of hospitality, struck Dick as being so utterly funny that he could not help laughing outright.
"Thank you, Mr. Titmouse," he replied. "I don't believe I'll eat any apples just now."
"I might make it four for a nickel," coaxed the little man, "if you agree not to pick out the largest apples."
"Thank you, but I don't believe I'll eat any apples at all just now," Dick managed to reply, then made his escape in time to avoid laughing in Mr. Titmouse's face.
Once out on the street, and knowing that he had some twenty minutes to wait for the next car, Dick strolled slowly along.
"I didn't know that boy," muttered Newbegin Titmouse, looking after Prescott with a half admiring gaze, "and I didn't size him up right. He offered me ten dollars, and then got the wagon for six. Whew! I don't believe I ever before got off so badly as that in a trade. But I really did spend five-fifty in advertising the wagon in the Tottenville and Gridley papers this summer, so I'm fifty cents ahead, anyway, and a fifty-cent piece is always equivalent to half a dollar!"
With which sage reflection Mr. Newbegin Titmouse went out into his small orchard to see whether he had overlooked any summer apples that were worth two dollars a barrel.
Dick sauntered down the street for a few blocks ere he heard the whirr of a Gridley-bound trolley car behind him. He quickened his pace until he reached the next corner. There he signaled to the motorman.
As the car slowed down Dick swung himself on nimbly, remarking to the conductor:
"Don't make a real stop for me. Drive on!"
As Prescott passed inside the car he was greeted by a pleasant-faced, well-dressed young man. It was Mr. Luce, one of the sub-masters of Gridley High School. Dick dropped into a seat beside him.
"Been tramping a bit, Prescott?" inquired the sub-master.
"No, sir; I've been over here on a little matter of business, but I expect to start, in a day or two, on a few weeks of tramping."
Thereupon young Prescott fell