“Yes,” said John, nodding his head thoughtfully, “I think I can understand it perfectly,” and indeed it spoke pages of David’s biography.

“Yes, sir,” said David, “I never spent a small amount o’ money but one other time an’ got so much value, only I alwus ben kickin’ myself to think I didn’t do it sooner.”

“Perhaps,” suggested John, “you enjoyed it all the more for waiting so long.”

“No,” said David, “it wa’n’t that—­I dunno—­’t was the feelin’ ’t I’d got there at last, I guess.  Fur’s waitin’ fer things is concerned, the’ is such a thing as waitin’ too long.  Your appetite ’ll change mebbe.  I used to think when I was a youngster that if ever I got where I c’d have all the custard pie I c’d eat that’d be all ’t I’d ask fer.  I used to imagine bein’ baked into one an’ eatin’ my way out.  Nowdays the’s a good many things I’d sooner have than custard pie, though,” he said with a wink, “I gen’ally do eat two pieces jest to please Polly.”

John laughed.  “What was the other thing?” he asked.

“Other thing I once bought?” queried David.  “Oh, yes, it was the fust hoss I ever owned.  I give fifteen dollars fer him, an’ if he wa’n’t a dandy you needn’t pay me a cent.  Crowbait wa’n’t no name fer him.  He was stun blind on the off side, an’ couldn’t see anythin’ in pertic’ler on the nigh side—­couldn’t get nigh ‘nough, I reckon—­an’ had most ev’rythin’ wrong with him that c’d ail a hoss; but I thought he was a thoroughbred.  I was ‘bout seventeen year old then, an’ was helpin’ lock-tender on the Erie Canal, an’ when the’ wa’n’t no boat goin’ through I put in most o’ my time cleanin’ that hoss.  If he got through ’th less ‘n six times a day he got off cheap, an’ once I got up an’ give him a little attention at night.  Yes, sir, if I got big money’s wuth out o’ that box it was mostly a matter of feelin’; but as fur ’s that old plugamore of a hoss was concerned, I got it both ways, for I got my fust real start out of his old carkiss.”

“Yes?” said John encouragingly.

“Yes, sir,” affirmed David, “I cleaned him up, an’ fed him up, an’ almost got ’im so’st he c’d see enough out of his left eye to shy at a load of hay close by; an’ fin’ly traded him off fer another record-breaker an’ fifteen dollars to boot.”

“Were you as enthusiastic over the next one as the first?” asked John, laughing.

“Wa’al,” replied David, relighting his temporarily abandoned cigar against a protest and proffer of a fresh one—­“wa’al, he didn’t lay holt on my affections to quite the same extent.  I done my duty by him, but I didn’t set up with him nights.  You see,” he added with a grin, “I’d got some used to bein’ a hoss owner, an’ the edge had wore off some.”  He smoked for a minute or two in silence, with as much apparent relish as if the cigar had not been stale.

“Aren’t you going on?” asked John at last

“Wa’al,” he replied, pleased with his audience, “I c’d go on, I s’pose, fast enough an’ fur enough, but I don’t want to tire ye out.  I reckon you never had much to do with canals?”