There's Mason's
farm over there. I guess we'd better sell them some books--hadn't
we? Just for a starter."
We turned into the lane that runs up to the Mason farmhouse. Bock
trotted on ahead--very stiff on his legs and his tail gently
wagging--to interview the mastiff, and Mrs. Mason who was sitting
on the porch, peeling potatoes, laid down the pan. She's a big,
buxom woman with jolly, brown eyes like a cow's.
"For heaven's sake, Miss McGill," she called out in a cheerful
voice--"I'm glad to see you. Got a lift, did you?"
She hadn't really noticed the inscription on Parnassus, and thought
it was a regular huckster's wagon.
"Well, Mrs. Mason," I said, "I've gone into the book business. This
is Mr. Mifflin. I've bought out his stock. We've come to sell you
some books."
She laughed. "Go on, Helen," she said, "you can't kid me! I bought
a whole set of books last year from an agent--'The World's Great
Funeral Orations'--twenty volumes. Sam and I ain't read more'n the
first volume yet. It's awful uneasy reading!"
Mifflin jumped down, and raised the side flap of the wagon.
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