"And that must be how the holes came to be in the
bottom. The sun got in its work on the bark and oil, and blistered
the body of the canoe so that it broke or wore away in spots.
Oh, dear!"
The sale was over, but a few odds and ends remained. Fred Ripley,
having now paid the whole of his forty-one dollars through Mr.
Dodge, ordered his handsome new purchase led out.
A man came out, holding the pony's halter. He walked slowly,
the pony moving contentedly after him.
"A fine little animal!" glowed Fred, stroking the glossy coat.
"He---er---looks rather old, doesn't he?" ventured Mr. Dodge.
"Not so very old," Fred answered airily. "There is a lot of life
and vim left in this little fellow. And he can show speed, too,
or I'm all wrong."
Then Fred's eye roved toward the pile of stuff on which no one
had bid.
"There's a good saddle," suggested Ripley. "The real western
kind," nodded the auctioneer.
It looked the part.
"I'll give you two dollars for the saddle," Fred offered.
"You'll pay ten if you get that saddle," replied the red-faced
auctioneer.
"Put it up and let us see how the bids will run," proposed Ripley.
"The sale is closed. Anything that is sold now will go at private
sale," retorted the auctioneer.
"Oh, come now!" protested Ripley. "I'd like to trade with you."
"You can, if you produce the price. At least, your friend can.
I can't deal with you, for you're a minor.
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