[B] Girard, it will be remembered, had but one eye. With that, however, he saw as much as many do with a full pair of eyes.
"Jacob!" bawled the landlord, to his sub., "bring out der ole hoss again, pefore he die mit de crows, in mine stable; now, you ole fool, you shall go vay pout your bishenish mit nossin to eat, mit yer hoss too!" said the landlord, with an evident rush of blood and beer to his head!
"Oh, veri well," patiently answered the old Frenchman, "veri well, sair, I sal go—but,"—shaking his finger very significantly at the landlord and lawyer, "I com' back to-morrow morning, I buy dis prop-er-tee; you, sir, sal make de deed in my name—I kick you out, sair, (to the landlord,) and to you (the lawyer), I sal like de goose. Booh!"
With this, the poor old Frenchman started for his gig, amid the "Haw! haw! haw! and ha! ha! he! he!" of the landlord and lawyer. "That for you," said the Frenchman, as he gave the surly Dutchman-hostler a real half-dollar, took the dirty "ribbons" and drove off. Now, the farmer, one of the three spectators present, had quietly watched the proceedings, and being gifted with enough insight into human nature to see something more than "an old French barber" in the person and manner of the traveller; and, moreover, being interested in the Tavern property, followed the Frenchman; overtaking him, he at once offered him the hospitalities of his domicile, not far distant, where the traveller passed a most comfortable night, and where his host found out that he was entertaining no less a pecuniary miracle of his time—than Stephen Girard.
Early next morning, old Stephy, in his old and shady gig, accompanied by his entertainer, rode over to the two owners of the Tavern property, and with them sought the lawyer, the deeds were made out, the old Frenchman drew on his own Bank for the $13,000, gave the farmer a ten years' lease upon the place, paid the lawyer for his trouble, and as that worthy accompanied the millionaire to the door, and was very obsequiously bowing him out, old Stephy turned around on the steps, and looking sharp—with his one eye upon the lawyer, says he—
"Sair! Pooh! pooh!—Booh!" off he rode for the Tavern, where he and the landlord had a haze, the landlord was notified to leave, short metre; and being fully revenged for the insult paid his millions, old Stephen Girard, the great Philadelphia financier, rode back to where he was better used for his money, and evidently better satisfied than ever, that money is mighty when brought to bear upon an object!
A Circumlocutory Egg Pedler.
We have been, frequently, much amused with the manœuvring of some folks in trade. It's not your cute folks, who screw, twist and twirl over a smooth fourpence, or skin a flea for its hide and tallow, and spoil a knife that cost a shilling,—that come out first best in the long run. Some folks have a weakness for beating down shop-keepers, or anybody else they deal with, and so far have we seen this infirmity carried, that we candidly believe we've known persons that would not stop short of cheapening the passage to kingdom come, if they thought a dollar and two cents might be saved in the fare! Now the rationale of the matter is this:—as soon as persons establish a reputation for meanness—beating down folks, they fall victims to all sorts of shaves and short commons, and have the fine Saxony drawn over their eyes—from the nose to the occiput; they get the meanest "bargains," offals, &c., that others would hardly have, even at a heavy discount. Then some folks are so wonderful sharp, too, that we wonder their very shadow does not often cut somebody. A friend of ours went to buy his wife a pair of gaiters; he brought them home; she found all manner of fault with them; among other drawbacks, she declared that for the price her better half had given for the gaiters, she could have got the best article in Waxend's entire shop! He said she had better take them back and try. So she did, and poor Mr. Waxend had an hour of his precious time used up by the lady's attempt to get a more expensive pair of gaiters at a less price than those purchased by her husband. Waxend saw how matters stood, so he consented to adopt the maxim of—when Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war!
"Now, marm," said he, "here is a pair of gaiters I have made for Mrs. Heavypurse; they are just your fit, most expensive material, the best article in the shop; Mrs. Heavypurse will not expect them for a few days, and rather than you should be disappointed, I will let you have them for the same price your husband paid for those common ones!"