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.
I must admit that Mr. Roger Mifflin had fixed up his van
mighty comfortably inside. The body of the wagon was built
out on each side over the wheels, which gave it an unwieldy
appearance but made extra room for the bookshelves. This left
an inside space about five feet wide and nine long. On one
side he had a little oil stove, a flap table, and a
cozy-looking bunk above which was built a kind of chest of
drawers--to hold clothes and such things, I suppose; on the
other side more bookshelves, a small table, and a little
wicker easy chair.
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