"Why can't you give up beating about the bush, Pa?" she demanded,
with contemptuous pity. "You might as well own up what's
taking you to Carmody. _I_ can see through your design.
You want to get away to the Garland auction. That is what is
troubling you, Pa Sloane."
"I dunno but what I might step over, seeing it's so handy.
But the sorrel mare really does need shoeing, Ma," protested Pa.
"There's always something needing to be done if it's convenient,"
retorted Ma. "Your mania for auctions will be the ruin
of you yet, Pa. A man of fifty-five ought to have grown out
of such a hankering. But the older you get the worse you get.
Anyway, if _I_ wanted to go to auctions, I'd select them as
was something like, and not waste my time on little one-horse
affairs like this of Garland's."
"One might pick up something real cheap at Garland's,"
said Pa defensively.
"Well, you are not going to pick up anything, cheap or otherwise,
Pa Sloane, because I'm going with you to see that you don't. I know
I can't stop you from going. I might as well try to stop the wind
from blowing. But I shall go, too, out of self-defence. This
house is so full now of old clutter and truck that you've brought
home from auctions that I feel as if I was made up out of pieces
and left overs.
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