All through the autumn and winter Phineas pinched and economized until
he had lopped off all of the luxuries and most of the pleasures of
living. Even then it is doubtful if he would have accomplished his
purpose had he not, in the spring, fallen heir to a modest legacy of a
few thousand dollars. The news of his good fortune was not two hours old
when he sought Diantha.

"I cal'late mebbe I'll be gettin' me one o' them 'ere autymobiles this
spring," he said, as if casually filling a pause in the conversation.

"Phineas!"

At the awed joy in Diantha's voice the man's heart glowed within him.
This one moment of triumph was worth all the long miserable winter with
its butterless bread and tobaccoless pipes. But he carefully hid his joy
when he spoke.

"Yes," he said nonchalantly. "I'm goin' ter Boston next week ter pick
one out. I cal'late on gettin' a purty good one."

"Oh, Phineas! But how--how you goin' ter run it?"

Phineas's chin came up.

"Run it!" he scoffed. "Well, I hain't had no trouble yet steerin' a
hoss, an' I cal'late I won't have any more steerin' a mess o' senseless
metal what hain't got no eyes ter be seein' things an' gittin' scared! I
don't worry none 'bout runnin' it."

"But, Phineas, it ain't all steerin'," ventured Diantha, timidly.