"I ain't sure but I've got a cow that will suit you, a red with
white spots. She's a fust-rate milker."

"How old is she?"

"She's turned of five."

"How much do you ask for her?"

"Are you going to pay cash down?" asked the squire, half shutting
his eyes, and looking into the face of his visitor.

"I can't do that. I'm very short of money."

"So am I," chimed in the squire. He had two hundred dollars in his
desk at that moment waiting for profitable investment; but then he
didn't call it exactly a lie to misrepresent for a purpose. "So am
I. Money's tight, neighbor."

"Money's always tight with me, squire," returned Hiram Walton, with
a sigh.

"Was you a-meanin' to pay anything down?" inquired the squire.

"I don't see how I can."

"That alters the case, you know. I might as well keep the cow, as
to sell her without the money down."