"I like you, I want to do something for you.

Get into my carriage, and let me tell you of some plans." He looked down at his faded woolen shirt and lifted his hand to his greasy sombrero.

"Oh, no! I can't do that." She laughed.

"You ought to be able to stand it if I can.

I'd be rather proud of having 'Black Mose' in my carriage." "I guess not," he said.