Sam glanced his eye over them all—some were bald with age; some in the prime of life; and one, he knew him well, a lad but two years older than himself, was draining the last sweet drop from the cup of poison as Sam stepped up to the counter.
'Mr. Grizzle, what do you charge for seven pounds of flour?'
'What do I charge?' At the same time putting his spectacles upon his forehead.
'Yes, sir, what is the price?'
'The price, boy? Why, how does your father want it? for fish or for trust?'
'We don't want it for neither, sir, but for the money.'
'Ah!—the money. Well, I s'pose we must try to let you have it a little less; but flour is plaguy dear any how, and I aint got none but rye.'
Sam succeeded in procuring a small deduction, and with that he purchased some tar.
'I shall tar my boat with what I have saved by paying the money,' said Sam to himself, as he laid down his cash on the counter; then taking up his goods went straight on his way.
'That seems to be rather a 'cute boy, Mr. Grizzle—that young Oakum.'