Every possible inch of space seemed to be
made useful in some way, for a shelf or a hook or a hanging
cupboard or something. Above the stove was a neat little row
of pots and dishes and cooking usefuls. The raised skylight
made it just possible to stand upright in the centre aisle of
the van; and a little sliding window opened onto the driver's
seat in front. Altogether it was a very neat affair. The
windows in front and back were curtained and a pot of geraniums
stood on a diminutive shelf. I was amused to see a sandy Irish
terrier curled up on a bright Mexican blanket in the bunk.
"Miss McGill," he said, "I couldn't sell Parnassus for less
than four hundred. I've put twice that much into her, one
time and another. She's built clean and solid all through,
and there's everything a man would need from blankets to
bouillon cubes. The whole thing's yours for $400--including
dog, cook stove, and everything--jib, boom, and spanker.
There's a tent in a sling underneath, and an ice box (he
pulled up a little trap door under the bunk) and a tank of
coal oil and Lord knows what all. She's as good as a yacht;
but I'm tired of her. If you're so afraid of your brother
taking a fancy to her, why don't you buy her yourself and go
off on a lark? Make _him_ stay home and mind the farm!.
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