It is what you want to graft me.

One bushel apples--one bushel potatoes--that YOU must say." The Colonel moved closer to the mayor.

He thought of Miss Sally, and of Skinner.
"I will make you a present of a bushel of apples," he said.
The mayor laid down his magazine and arose.

As the Colonel watched him with surprise, he removed his leathern apron.

The Colonel folded his hand into a fist, but on the pleasant face of Mayor Stitz there was no sign of anger; no sign of righteous indignation; only a bland look of satisfaction.
"Well," inquired the Colonel impatiently, "will ye put the ordinance through, or won't ye ?" The mayor looked at him with surprise in every feature.