“O, boys, she’s got a cent, for mother promised it to her! She isn’t a nail-one!” shouted her brother.
Nail-ones belonged to an inferior caste. This class included those who had been about the streets and yards, back of barns and in old corner-lots, picking up nails or cast-away bits of iron. Their currency was the more common. A hard-cash customer was about as common as bobolinks in December.
“Callie, come here and buy some fruit!”
“Don’t you want some candy, Callie?”
“Buy a toy, Callie!”
“Flowerth! flowerth!” were the various shouts greeting the cash customer. She was saluted eagerly, as hack-men hail the arrivals in the trains at a city station. Callie made no reply, but stubbed in a demure, dignified way, from table to table, finally halting where children’s strongest passion is sure to take them, at the candy table. Here she traded away her cash.
“And wont you try a piece?” said Juggie to Aunt Stanshy, displaying his stock of two pieces of candy. “Try dese goods.”
She graciously took the sample.
“How do you sell candy?”
“Cent a stick.”