himself at home. He unhitched his horse, tied her up to the fence,
sat down by the wood pile, and lit a pipe. I could see I was in for
it. By and by I couldn't stand it any longer. I went out to talk to
that bald-headed pedlar.

"See here," I said. "You're a pretty cool fish to make yourself so
easy in my yard. I tell you I don't want you around here, you and
your travelling parcheesi. Suppose you clear out of here before my
brother gets back and don't be breaking up our happy family."

"Miss McGill," he said (the man had a pleasant way with him,
too--darn him--with his bright, twinkling eye and his silly little
beard), "I'm sure I don't want to be discourteous. If you move me on
from here, of course I'll go; but I warn you I shall lie in wait for
Mr. McGill just down this road. I'm here to sell this caravan of
culture, and by the bones of Swinburne I think your brother's the
man to buy it."

My blood was up now, and I'll admit that I said my next without
proper calculation.

"Rather than have Andrew buy your old parcheesi," I said, "I'll buy
it myself. I'll give you $300 for it."

The little man's face brightened. He didn't either accept or decline
my offer. (I was frightened to death that he'd take me right on the
nail and bang would go my three years' savings for a Ford.)

"Come and have another look at her," he said.