down in the wheelbarrow and stared at his friend almost with
awe.

"My gracious," he said, "I never thought o' that! How--how much do you
think we'll get, Penrod?"

Sam's thus admitting himself to a full partnership in the enterprise
met no objection from Penrod, who was absorbed in the contemplation of
Whitey.

"Well," he said judicially, "we might get more and we might get less."

Sam rose and joined his friend in the doorway opening upon the two
stalls. Whitey had preempted the nearer, and was hungrily nuzzling the
old frayed hollows in the manger.

"Maybe a hunderd dollars--or sumpthing?" Sam asked in a low voice.

Penrod maintained his composure and repeated the newfound expression
that had sounded well to him a moment before. He recognized it as a
symbol of the non--committal attitude that makes people looked up to.
"Well"--he made it slow, and frowned--"we might get more and we might
get less."

"More'n a hunderd DOLLARS?" Sam gasped.

"Well," said Penrod, "we might get more and we might get less." This
time, however, he felt the need of adding something. He put a question
in an indulgent tone, as though he were inquiring, not to add to his own
information but to discover the extent of Sam's. "How much do you think
horses are worth, anyway?"

"I don't know," Sam said frankly, and, unconsciously, he added, "They
might be more and they might be less."

"Well, when our ole horse died," Penrod said, "Papa said he wouldn't
taken five hunderd dollars for him. That's how much HORSES are worth!"

"My gracious!" Sam exclaimed. Then he had a practical afterthought. "But
maybe he was a better horse than this'n. What colour was he?"

"He was bay. Looky here, Sam"--and now Penrod's manner changed from
the superior to the eager--"you look what kind of horses they have in a
circus, and you bet a circus has the BEST horses, don't it? Well, what
kind of horses do they have in a circus? They have some black and white
ones; but the best they have are white all over. Well, what kind of a
horse is this we got here? He's perty near white right now, and I bet if
we washed him off and got him fixed up nice he WOULD be white. Well, a
bay horse is worth five hunderd dollars, because that's what Papa said,
and this horse--"

Sam interrupted rather timidly.

"He--he's awful bony, Penrod. You don't guess they'd make any--"

Penrod laughed contemptuously.

"Bony! All he needs is a little food and he'll fill right up and l