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MR. TITMOUSE DOESN'T KNOW DICK
"We thought ten dollars would be about right," Dick Prescott announced.
"Per week?" inquired Mr. Titmouse, as though he doubted his hearing.
"Oh, dear, no! For the month of August, sir."
Mr. Newbegin Titmouse surveyed his young caller through half-closed eyelids.
"Ten dollars for the use of that fine wagon for a whole month?" cried Mr. Titmouse in astonishment. "Absurd!"
"Very likely I am looking at it from the wrong point of view," admitted Prescott, who fingered a ten dollar bill and was slowly smoothing it out so that Mr. Titmouse might see it.
"That wagon was put together especially for the purpose," Mr. Titmouse resumed. "It has seats that run lengthwise, and eight small cupboards and lockers under the seats. There is a place to secure the cook stove at the rear end of the wagon, and the stove rests on zinc. Though the wagon is light enough for one horse to draw it, it will hold all that several people could require for camping or for leading a regular gipsy life. There is a special awning that covers the wagon when needed, so that on a rainy day you can travel without using umbrellas or getting wet. You can cook equally well on the stove whether in camp or on the road. There are not many vehicles in which you can cook a full meal when traveling from one point to another."
"Nor is it every stewpan or kettle that would refrain from slipping off the stove when driving the wagon over rough roads," laughed Dick good-humoredly.
"Then you don't think ten dollars a fair price?" Dick Prescott inquired thoughtfully.
"For a month's use of the wagon? I do not," replied Mr. Newbegin Titmouse with emphasis.
"And so you decline our offer of ten dollars?" Prescott asked, looking still more thoughtful.
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