"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.
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