"I thought you said your brother lost 'em," he observed drily.

Tomaso shrugged, flung out his hands, smiled with his lips, and frowned
with his eyes. "S'pose he did lost. Somebody could find."

Johnny laughed. "All right; we'll let it ride that way. I ain't going to
tell your brother. Want to sell 'em?"

Tomaso took up the pliers, caressed their bright steel with his long
fingers, nipped them open and shut.

"What you pay me?" he countered.

"Two bits."

Tomaso turned them over, gazed upon them fondly. He shook his head
regretfully. "_No quero._ Them pliers, she's _bueno_," he said. "You
could find more things. My brother, she's tell lots of things is where
that sets like a hawk. Lots of things. You don't tell my brother?"

"Sure not. I don't want the things anyway. And I don't know your
brother."

Tomaso thoughtfully nipped the pliers upon the oilcloth table cover. He
looked at the airplane picture, he looked at Johnny. He sighed.

"Me, I'm like see those thing fly like birds. I'm like see that what sets
over there. My brother, she's tell me it's so big like here to that water
hole. She's tell me some day it maybe flies. I go see it some day."