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You give me a thousand dollars for my car, and I'll agree to haul that old calliope up to my barn, out of your way, and make a hen roost out of it. Come on now. It's your only chance." Shortly after this they are parted by anxious friends, and the show is over. I've known Homeburg men to give up a trip to Chicago because Chet and Pelty began to trade their autos just before train time.
"When you go up Sanders Hill, they have to close two district schools for the noise." "Only time you ever heard me I was hauling you up with your broken jack-shaft," snorts Pelty. "You ought to get some iron parts for your car. Cheese has gone out of style." "You still use it for tires, I see," says Chet. "Never mind," says Pelty wrathfully.
"I get mileage out of my machine; I don't drive around town and then spend two days shoveling out carbon." "Peculiar radiator you've got," says Chet, changing the subject. "Oh, I see; it's a road sprinkler. What do you get from the city for laying the dust?" "I can stop that leak in two minutes with a handful of corn meal," says Pelty, busily surveying Chet's machine.
I need something to tie my cow to. She'd haul away anything that was movable." "Give you five hundred dollars for that parody on a popcorn wagon?" snorts Chet. "Why, man, the poor old thing has to go into low to pull its shadow! You're delirious, Pelty. I'll tell you what I'll do.
Her scandalized women friends tried to pull her down, and Pelty Amthorne yelled "whoa," but she was in politics to stay. "You look mighty fine standing up there, Mr. Jones," she shouted, "and tellin' us women to go back home where we belong. But I just want to tell this here crowd to-night that if you wasn't tighter than the bark on a tree, your wife wouldn't have to do her own washing.
"Your machine couldn't fall ten miles in thirty minutes. Why don't you get a real automobile? What will you give me to boot for mine?" They are off, and business in the vicinity suspends. "I'll trade with you, Pelty," says Chet calmly quite calmly. "Let me look it over." He walks carefully around the auto, opens the hood and looks in. "Funny engine, isn't it?
That was when Pelty Amthorne told him that his wife considered the Democrat to be the best paper she had ever seen. He let Ayers burst a couple of buttons from his vest in his swelling pride before he explained that the Democrat, when cut in two, exactly fitted his wife's pantry shelves, and that she didn't have to trim it a bit.
Horse traders are considerate and tender of each other's feelings compared with two rural automobile owners who are talking swap with any enthusiasm. "Hello, Pelty," says Chet. "Separator busted again?" Everybody laughs, and Chet walks all around the machine. "Why, it ain't a separator at all," he finally says. "What is it, Pelty?"
I saw one like that at the World's Fair." Pelty has the hood of Chet's machine open too and is right there with the retort courteous. "Is this an engine or a steam heater?" he asks. "What pressure does she carry?" "She never heats at all except when I run a long time on low," Chet says eagerly. "Oh, yes," says Pelty, "I never have to go into low much " "Gosh!" Chet explodes.
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