At the second call Barkswell rose to his feet and walked out to the gate.
"Be you the man of the house?"
"I am."
"Wal, I've got the neatest set o' table-clothes you ever set eyes on. Irish linen, direct from the green sod, warranted to be the best article of the kind for the money in North America."
"I don't wish any."
"But you'll look at 'em. You're a gentleman; I can tell by the looks of your countenance."
"I don't care for any."
"Hair oil, toilet articles, the neatest—"
"You needn't mind showing them," as the little, elderly man sprang out of his low wagon and hobbled to the walk with a tin box under his arm.
"Where's the woman—your wife? Mebbe she'd like to look at something."