"Ah, now," said the cosmopolitan, "don't, pray, say that; don't let him think that poor Laughter is persecuted for a fool in this world."
"Well," said the old man to the boy, "you must, at any rate, speak very low."
"Yes, that wouldn't be amiss, perhaps," said the cosmopolitan; "but, my fine fellow, you were about saying something to my aged friend here; what was it?"
"Oh," with a lowered voice, coolly opening and shutting his little door, "only this: when I kept a toy-stand at the fair in Cincinnati last month, I sold more I than one old man a child's rattle."
"No doubt of it," said the old man. "I myself often buy such things for my little grandchildren."
"But these old men I talk of were old bachelors."
The old man stared at him a moment; then, whispering to the cosmopolitan: "Strange boy, this; sort of simple, ain't he? Don't know much, hey?"
"Not much," said the boy, "or I wouldn't be so ragged."
"Why, child, what sharp ears you have!" exclaimed the old man.
"If they were duller, I would hear less ill of myself," said the boy.
"You seem pretty wise, my lad," said the cosmopolitan; "why don't you sell your wisdom, and buy a coat?"
"Faith," said the boy, "that's what I did to-day, and this is the coat that the price of my wisdom bought.
But won't you trade? See, now, it is not the door I want to sell; I only carry the door round for a specimen, like. Look now, sir," standing the thing up on the table, "supposing this little door is your state-room door; well," opening it, "you go in for the night; you close your door behind you — thus. Now, is all safe?"
"I suppose so, child," said the old man.
"Of course it is, my fine fellow," said the cosmopolitan.
"All safe. Well. Now, about two o'clock in the morning, say, a soft-handed gentleman comes softly and tries the knob here — thus; in creeps my soft-handed gentlemen; and hey, presto! how comes on the soft cash?"
"I see, I see, child," said the old man; "your fine gentleman is a fine thief, and there's no lock to your little door to keep him out;" with which words he peered at it more closely than before.
"Well, now," again showing his white teeth, "well, now, some of you old folks are knowing 'uns, sure enough; but now comes the great invention," producing a small steel contrivance, very simple but ingenious, and which, being clapped on the inside of the little door, secured it as with a bolt. "There now," admiringly holding it off at arm's-length, "there now, let that soft-handed gentleman come now a' softly trying this little knob here, and let him keep a' trying till he finds his head as soft as his hand. Buy the traveler's patent lock, sir, only twenty-five cents."
"Dear me," cried the old man, "this beats printing. Yes, child, I will have one, and use it this very night."
With the phlegm of an old banker pouching the change, the boy now turned to the other: "Sell you one, sir?"
"Excuse me, my fine fellow, but I never use such blacksmiths' things."
"Those who give the blacksmith most work seldom do," said the boy, tipping him a wink expressive of a degree of indefinite knowingness, not uninteresting to consider in one of his years. But the wink was not marked by the old man, nor, to all appearances, by him for whom it was intended.
"Now then," said the boy, again addressing the old man. "With your traveler's lock on your door to-night, you will think yourself all safe, won't you?"
"I think I will, child."
"But how about the window?"
"Dear me, the window, child. I never thought of that. I must see to that."
"Never you mind about the window," said the boy, "nor, to be honor bright, about the traveler's lock either, (though I ain't sorry for selling one), do you just buy one of these little jokers," producing a number of suspender-like objects, which he dangled before the old man; "money-belts, sir; only fifty cents."
"Money-belt? never heard of such a thing."
"A sort of pocket-book," said the boy, "only a safer sort. Very good for travelers."
"Oh, a pocket-book. Queer looking pocket-books though, seems to me. Ain't they rather long and narrow for pocket-books?"
"They go round the waist, sir, inside," said the boy "door open or locked, wide awake on your feet or fast asleep in your chair, impossible to be robbed with a money-belt."
"I see, I see. It would be hard to rob one's money-belt. And I was told to-day the Mississippi is a bad river for pick-pockets. How much are they?"
"Only fifty cents, sir."
"I'll take one. There!"
"Thank-ee. And now there's a present for ye," with which, drawing from his breast a batch of little papers, he threw one before the old man, who, looking at it, read "Counterfeit Detector." Note: [45.11]
"Very good thing," said the boy, "I give it to all my customers who trade seventy-five cents' worth; best present can be made them. Sell you a money-belt, sir?" turning to the cosmopolitan.
"Excuse me, my fine fellow, but I never use that sort of thing; my money I carry loose."
"Loose bait ain't bad," said the boy, "look a lie and find the truth; don't care about a Counterfeit Detector, do ye? or is the wind East, d'ye think?"
"Child," said the old man in some concern, "you mustn't sit up any longer, it affects your mind; there, go away, go to bed."
"If I had some people's brains to lie on, I would," said the boy, "but planks is hard, you know."
"Go, child — go, go!"
"Yes, child, — yes, yes," said the boy, with which roguish parody, by way of cong, he scraped back his hard foot on the woven flowers of the carpet, much as a mischievous steer in May scrapes back his horny hoof in the pasture; and then with a flourish of his hat — which, like the rest of his tatters, was, thanks to hard times, a belonging beyond his years, though not beyond his experience, being a grown man's cast-off beaver — turned, and with the air of a young Caffre, quitted the place.
"That's a strange boy," said the old man, looking after him. "I wonder who's his mother; and whether she knows what late hours he keeps?"
"The probability is," observed the other, "that his mother does not know. But if you remember, sir, you were saying something, when the boy interrupted you with his door."
"So I was. - Let me see," unmindful of his purchases for the moment, "what, now, was it? What was that I was saying? Do you remember?"
"Not perfectly, sir; but, if I am not mistaken, it was something like this: you hoped you did not distrust the creature; for that would imply distrust of the Creator."
"Yes, that was something like it," mechanically and unintelligently letting his eye fall now on his purchases.
"Pray, will you put your money in your belt to-night?"
"It's best, ain't it?" with a slight start. "Never too late to be cautious. 'Beware of pick-pockets' is all over the boat."
"Yes, and it must have been the Son of Sirach, or some other morbid cynic, who put them there. But that's not to the purpose. Since you are minded to it, pray, sir, let me help you about the belt. I think that, between us, we can make a secure thing of it."
"Oh no, no, no!" said the old man, not unperturbed, "no, no, I wouldn't trouble you for the world," then, nervously folding up the belt, "and I won't be so impolite as to do it for myself, before you, either. But, now that I think of it," after a pause, carefully taking a little wad from a remote corner of his vest pocket, "here are two bills they gave me at St. Louis, yesterday. No doubt they are all right; but just to pass time, I'll compare them with the Detector here. Blessed boy to make me such a present. Public benefactor, that little boy!"
Laying the Detector square before him on the table, he then, with something of the air of an officer bringing by the collar a brace of culprits to the bar, placed the two bills opposite the Detector, upon which, the examination began, lasting some time, prosecuted with no small research and vigilance, the forefinger of the right hand proving of lawyer-like efficacy in tracing out and pointing the evidence, whichever way it might go.