“What—what’s this?” stammered the old fellow. “Where is my change?”
“That’s all right, three for a quarter, sir,” returned Paul Barberry briskly. “Who’ll have the next? Don’t all crowd up at once!”
“But I don’t want three,” said the old man timidly. “I want my change.”
“You’ll find you need three, find ’em very valuable, sir! That’s right, come right up and buy, buy, buy! It’s the greatest on the face of the globe!” bawled Barberry, turning away and addressing another crowd on the sidewalk.
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” muttered the old man, and much put out, but too timid to stand up for his 176 rights and demand the return of his money, he placed the packages in his coat-tail pocket, and walked off.
“Well, that’s what I call a rather high-handed proceeding,” thought Matt. “No wonder some folks consider street merchants and traveling auctioneers little better than thieves, when some of them act in that fashion. I don’t think he’ll prosper, though, in the end.”
He was about to continue on his way, when Paul Barberry caught sight of him and came forward.
“Hullo, my young friend!” he called out pleasantly. “What brings you to Easton—the big parade?”
Matt did not like this manner of being addressed. He considered the corn salve doctor altogether too familiar, so he replied rather coldly:
“Not particularly. We merely struck Easton in the course of our travels.”