"Those are nice hinges, real wrought," says the clerk, referring to an article the "customer" had just been gazing at with evident interest.
"Rale wrought?" he asked, after another lapse of two minutes.
"They are, yes, sir," answered the clerk. Then followed another pause; the Yankee with both his hands sunk deep into his trowsers' pockets, and viewing the hinges at a respectful distance, in profound calculation, three minutes full.
"They be, eh?" he at length responded.
"Yes, sir, warranted," replied the clerk. Another long pause. The Yankee approached the hinges, two steps—picks up a bundle of the article, looks knowingly at them two minutes—
"Yeou don't say so?"
"No doubt about that, at all," the clerk replies, rather pertly, as he moves off to wait upon another customer, who bought some eight or ten dollars' worth of cutlery and tools, paid for them, and cleared out, while our Yankee genius was still reconnoitering the hinges.
"I say, mister, where's them made?" inquires the Yankee.
"In England, sir," replied the clerk.
"Not in Neuw England, I'll bet a fo'pence!"