You've seen whether or not he c'n travel,' I says, 'an', so fur 's I've
seen, he ain't 'fraid of nothin'.' 'D'ye want to sell him?' the deakin
says. 'Wa'al,' I says, 'I ain't offerin' him fer sale. You'll go a good
ways,' I says, ''fore you'll strike such another; but, of course, he
ain't the only hoss in the world, an' I never had anythin' in the hoss
line I wouldn't sell at _some_ price.' 'Wa'al,' he says, 'what d' ye ask
fer him?' 'Wa'al,' I says, 'if my own brother was to ask me that
question I'd say to him two hunderd dollars, cash down, an' I wouldn't
hold the offer open an hour,' I says."

"My!" ejaculated Aunt Polly. "Did he take you up?"

"'That's more'n I give fer a hoss 'n a good while,' he says, shakin' his
head, 'an' more'n I c'n afford, I'm 'fraid.' 'All right,' I says; 'I c'n
afford to keep him'; but I knew I had the deakin same as the woodchuck
had Skip. 'Hitch up the roan,' I says to Mike; 'the deakin wants to be
took up to his house.' 'Is that your last word?' he says. 'That's what
it is,' I says. 'Two hunderd, cash down.'"

"Didn't ye dast to trust the deakin?" asked Mrs. Bixbee.

"Polly," said David, "the's a number of holes in a ten-foot ladder."
Mrs. Bixbee seemed to understand this rather ambiguous rejoinder.

"He must 'a' squirmed some," she remarked. David laughed.

"The deakin ain't much used to payin' the other feller's price," he
said, "an' it was like pullin' teeth; but he wanted that hoss more'n a
cow wants a calf, an' after a little more squimmidgin' he hauled out his
wallet an' forked over. Mike come out with the roan, an' off the deakin