"I RECKON I couldn't drive a trade with you to-day, squire?" said a
genuine specimen of a Yankee pedler, as he stood at the door of a
certain merchant in St. Louis.
"I reckon you calculate about right, for you can't," was the sneering
reply.
"Wall, I guess you needn't get huffy 'bout it. Now here's a dozen
ginooine razer strops--worth two dollars and a half; you may have 'em
for two dollars."
"I tell you I don't want any of your strops--so you may as well be going
along."
"Wall, now, look here, squire, I'll bet you five dollars, that if you
make me an offer for them 'ere strops, we'll have a trade yet!"
"Done!" replied the merchant, placing the money in the hands of a
bystander. The Yankee deposited a like sum.
"Now," said the merchant, "I'll give you a picayune for the strops."
"They're yourn," said the Yankee, as he quietly pocketed the stakes.
"But," said he, after a little reflection, and with great apparent
honesty, "I'll trade back."
The merchant's countenance brightened.
"You are not so bad a chap, after all," said he. "Here are your
strops--give me the money."
"There it is," said the Yankee, as he received the strops and passed
over the sixpence. "A trade is a trade; and, now you are wide awake, the
next time you trade with that 'ere sixpence you'll do a little better
than buy razer strops."
And away walked the pedler with his strops and his wager, amidst the
shouts of the laughing crowd.