He was orful keen on that po'try, too, you bet.
So you'd better hump yourself afore somebody else cuts in.

Mar got a hundred dollars for that pome, from that editor feller and his pardner.
I reckon that's the rig'lar price, eh ?" he added, with a sudden suspicious caution.
"I reckon so," replied Mr.Bowers, blankly.

"But--look here, Bob! Do you mean to say it was your mother--your MOTHER, Bob, who wrote that poem?
Are you sure ?" "D'ye think I'm lyin' ?" said Bob, scornfully.

"Don't I know?
Don't I copy 'em out plain for her, so as folks won't know her handwrite?
Go 'way! you're loony!" Then, possibly doubting if this latter expression were strictly diplomatic with the business in hand, he added, in half-reproach, half-apology, "Don't ye see I don't want ye to be fooled into losin' yer chance o' buying up that Summit wood?
It's the cold truth I'm tellin' ye." Mr.Bowers no longer doubted it.

Disappointed as he undoubtedly was at first,--and even self-deceived,--he recognized in a flash the grim fact that the boy had stated.