One morning, last August, Jimmie Wood was sitting on the gatepost making a willow whistle, when a remarkable wagon, drawn by a lean, gray horse, came up over the hill. The wagon looked like a big black box with a window in it. In front was a man driving, and this man seemed rather peculiar too. He had a long, pointed mustache and very curly hair. He was not a cigar and candy peddler, nor a patent medicine man, nor a machine agent, for Jim could recognize any of these in a minute. The curly-haired man stopped directly in front of the gate.
"Good morning," said he.
"Morning," answered Jim, shutting up his knife.
"My name's Leatherbee," continued the curly-haired man.
"Is it?" said Jim, unconcernedly, and then slid off the gate-post and started for the house.
"Hi boy!"

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